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UCSB  LIBRARY 
X-^tDr^ 

UNDER  THE  SUN. 


BY 


PHIL.    ROBINSON, 


LATE   PROFESSOR   OF   LITERATURE   AND    LOGIC   TO   THE    GOVERNMENT   OF  INDIA  j 

SPECIAL  WAR   CORRESPONDENT   OF   THE   LONDON    "DAILY   TELEGRAPH*' 

IN    AFGHANISTAN    AND    ZULULAND. 

AUTHOR   OF    "IN   MY    INDIAN   GARDEN,"    "  UNDER    THE   PUNKAH," 

"NOAH'S  ARK,"  &c.,  &c. 


a 


BY    EDWIN    ARNOLD, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  LIGHT  OF  ASIA." 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1882. 


Copyright,  1888, 
BY  PHIL.  ROBINSON. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


DEDICATED 
TO 

ijafcagc  anto  t(jc  lotos  Clubs 

OF  LONDON  AND  NEW  YORK, 
BY 

A    SAVAGE    OF    THE    LOTOS. 
1882. 


PREFACE    TO    LATEST    EDITION. 


AUTHOR'S  EXPLANATORY  NOTE. 

I  AM  of  opinion  that  no  one  living  can  be  considered 
a  greater  authority  upon  the  subject  of  Natural  History 
and  Unnatural  History  than  my  daughter  Edith,  for  on 
the  occasion  of  her  second  birthday  (last  Thursday) 
we  gave  her  a  Noah's  Ark,  and  her  life  ever  since  has 
been  devoted  to  original  researches  into  the  properties 
of  its  various  inhabitants.  Not  only  does  she  bathe 
and  feed  each  individual  of  the  menagerie  every  day, 
but  she  puts  Noah  and  all  his  family,  and  as  many  of 
the  Beasts  as  she  can  find,  under  her  pillow  every 
night.  Moreover,  she  approaches  her  subject  quite 
unprejudiced  by  previous  information,  and  with  a  grasp 
that  is  both  bold  and  comprehensive.  This  free,  gen- 
erous handling  of  the  persons  and  animals  that  have 
come  under  her  notice,  convinces  me,  therefore,  that 


Note  to  Preface. 


the  contents  of  this  volume  will  receive  from  her  a 
fairer  introduction  to  the  Public  than  I  could  expect 
from  a  more  precisely  critical  pen. 

PHIL  ROBINSON. 


EDITH'S   PREFACE. 


PREFACE  TO   THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


I  HAVE  derived  so  much  pleasure  from  reading  the 
following  sketches,  humorous  and  pathetic,  of  Indian 
incidents,  scenes,  and  objects,  that  I  am  glad  to  have 
the  opportunity  of  recommending  them  to  the  two  classes 
of  readers  who  will,  I  think,  be  chiefly  interested.  One 
class  consists  of  those  who  desire  to  know  —  what  is 
not  at  present  to  be  found  in  books  —  the  out-of-door 
ordinary  themes  of  observation  in  India ;  the  other 
class,  of  those  who  —  knowing  India  well,  and  all  the 
familiar  sights  and  sounds  alluded  to  in  this  little  vol- 
ume —  will  easily  fill  up  the  slight  and  pleasant  outline 
of  the  Author's  sketches,  and  thus  renew  for  themselves 
many  and  many  a  bygone  happ}-  hour  and  old  associa- 
tion of  their  Eastern  home.  None  but  Anglo-Indians 
know  what  a  treasure-mine  of  art,  literature,  and  pictur- 
esque description  lies  unworked  in  the  common  experi- 
ences of  our  life  in  India.  But  some  are  unobservant ; 
some  are  too  soon  familiarized  and  forget  the  charm  of 
first  impressions  ;  some  admire,  or  are  amused,  but  lack 
the  gift  of  expression ;  and  nearly  all  official  Indians 
have  too  much  business  to  leave  them  time  for  the  pur- 
suit or  record  of  natural  histoiy,  and  such  light  and 
laughing  science  as  this  little  book  contains.  For  here 
I  think  is  one  bright  exception,  —  one  Anglo-Indian  who 


vi  Preface,. 

has  not  only  felt  the  never-ceasing  attraction  of  the 
"common  objects"  of  India  for  a  cultivated  and  ob- 
servant fancy,  but  has  found  time  and  gifts  to  record 
them  as  they  first  struck  him,  in  a  style  which,  with  all 
its  lightness  of  manner  and  material,  has  great  strength 
and  value,  like  those  fine  webs  of  Dacca  and  Delhi  with 
the  embroidered  beetle- wings  and  feathers.  The  Author 
writes  of  beetles,  birds,  frogs,  squirrels,  and  the  "  small 
deer  "  of  India,  but  always,  as  it  seems  to  me,  with  so 
just  a  sense  of  the  vivid  vitality  of  these  Indian  scenes 
and  creatures,  and  so  much  sympathy  for  the  Asiatic 
side  of  our  empire,  down  to  its  simplest  every-day 
objects,  that  I  should  not  know  where  to  send  an  unin- 
formed English  reader  for  better  hints  of  the  out-of- 
door  look  and  spirit  of  things  in  our  Indian  gardens. 

Thej'  are  onty  sketches,  no  doubt,  which  fill  this  little 
portfolio,  but  their  outlines  are  often  drawn  with  so  true 
a  hand,  that  nothing  can  be  more  suggestive  to  the 
memory  of  any  one  who  has  lived  the  same  life.  India 
may  be  hot,  dusty,  distant,  and  whatever  else  the  weary 
exile  alleges  when  his  liver  goes  wrong,  but  she  is  never 
for  one  moment,  or  in  any  spot,  as  regards  her  people, 
her  scenery,  her  cities,  towns,  villages,  or  country- 
places,  vulgar.  There  is  nothing  in  her  not  worth  study 
and  regard  ;  for  the  stamp  of  a  vast  past  is  over  all  the 
land,  and  the  very  pariah-dogs  are  classic  to  those  who 
know  Indian  fables  and  how  to  be  entertained  by  them. 
Our  Author  is  one  of  the  happy  few  in  whom  familiarity 
with  Indian  sights  and  objects  has  not  bred  indifference, 
but  rather  suggested  the  beginnings  of  a  new  field  of 
Anglo-Indian  literature.  If  I  am  not  wrong,  the  charm 
of  looking  at  these  utterly  commonplace  animals  and 
people  of  India  in  this  gay  and  pleased  spirit  is  that 


Preface.  vii 

we  get  that  freshness  of  feeling  which  youth  alone  en- 
jo}'s  when  all  the  world  is  new  to  it,  interpreted  by  the 
adult  and  matured  mind  suddenly  entering  a  practically 
new  world,  —  for  such  India  is  to  the  English  official  on 
his  first  arrival.  All  we  other  Indians  had  of  course 
noticed  all  those  odd  and  tender  points  about  the 
"syce's  children,"  the  "pea-boy,"  the  "  bheesty's 
mother,"  the  "dak-bungalow  moorghees,"  the  "my- 
nas,"  crows,  green  parrots,  squirrels,  and  the  beetles 
that  get  into  the  mustard  and  the  soup.  Here,  however, 
is  one  at  last  who  writes  down  his  observations,  and 
opens,  I  think,  thereby  a  rich  and  charming  field  of 
Indian  literature,  which  ought  hereafter  to  j'ield  many 
other  pages  as  agreeable  as  those  which  it  gives  me  true 
satisfaction  thus  to  commend  to  the  public. 

EDWIN  ARNOLD. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A  PRELIMINARY  WARNING  OF  THE  CONTENTS  OF  THIS 
BOOK 3 

Part  I.    Iirtu'an  Sfatdjes. 
I.     IN  MY  INDIAN  GARDEN    .    .     . 17 

"  When  God  set  about  creation,  He  first  planted  a  garden." 

Nugce  Oriclance. 

THE  BIRDS    .    .    .    .     • 17 

"  End, — But  of  what  sort,  pray,  is  this  life  among  the 

birds  ?  for  you  know  it  accurately. 
Hoopoe,  —  Not  an  unpleasant  one  to  pass  ;  where,  in  the 

first  place,  we  must  live  without  a  purse. 
Eucl.  —  You  have  removed  much  of  life's  base  metal. 
Hoopoe.  —  And  we  feed  in  gardens  upon  the  white  sesame 
and  myrtle-berries  and  poppies  and  mint." 
Aristophanes  (Hickie's). 

OF  HENS 20 

"  Tame,  villatic  fowl."  —  Milton. 
"  The  feathered  tribe  domestic."  —  Cowper. 
"  The  careful  hen." —  Thomson. 

"  The  dak-bungalow  fowls  develop  the  bones  of  vultures 
and  lay  the  eggs  of  finches. "  —  Nugcc  Orielance. 


x  Contents. 

PAGE 

II.     VISITORS  IN  FEATHERS 26 

CORVUS  SPLENDENS. 

"  '  Crows,'  remarked  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  '  are  down 
in  the  devil's  book  in  round-hand.'  " —  Xoctes  Ambrosiance. 

GREEN  PARROTS 30 

4 '  The  writer  of  the  Mahabharata  excluded  green  parrots 
from  an  ideal1  country.  '  There  are,'  he  writes,  4  no  parrots 
there  to  eat  the  grain.'  " — Nugw  Orielanos. 

THE  MYNAS  (Sturnince) 32 

44  To  strange  mysterious  dulness  still  the  friends."  — Byron, 
4 'Two  starlings  cannot  sleep  in  one  bed."  — Proverb. 

THE  SEVEN  SISTERS 36 

44  One  for  each  of  the  wise  men  of  Greece,  one  for  each 
hill  of  Rome,  each  of  the  divitis  ostia  Nili  and  each  hero  of 
Thebes,  one  for  each  day  of  the  week,  one  for  each  of  the 
Pleiades,  one  for  each  cardinal  sin."  —  Nugce  Orielance. 

III.    VISITORS  IN  FUR,  AND  OTHERS 39 

THE  MUNGOOSE 40 

THE  GRAY  SQUIRREL 41 

"  The  squirrel  Adjidauno, 
In  and  out  among  the  branches, 
Coughed  and  chattered  in  the  oak  tree, 
Laughed,  and  said  between  his  laughing, 
4  Do  not  shoot  me,  Hiawatha.'  "  —  Longfellow. 

THE  ANTS 42 

44  To  the  emmet  gives 

Her  foresight  and  the  intelligence  that  makes 
The  tiny  creatures  strong  by  social  league. " 

Wordsworth.     ,, 

"  The  parsimonious  emmet."  — Milton. 
4'  Us  vagrant  emmets."  —  Young. 


Contents.  xi 


II.    QTfje  Entuan  Seasons. 

PAGB 

I.     IN  HOT  WEATHER  .    .    .  * 55 

"  A  great  length  of  deadly  days." — Atalanta  in  Calydon. 

II.     THE  RAINS 67 

"  For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day."  —  Twelfth  Niglit. 

III.    THE  COLD  WEATHER 90 

"  Ah  !  if  to  thee 
It  feels  Elysian,  how  rich  to  me, 
An  exiled  mortal,  sounds  its  pleasant  name  !  " 

Endymion. 

Part  III.    Unnatural  ^fstorg. 

I.     MONKEYS  AND  METAPHYSICS 105 

Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  —  How  they  found  Seeta.  — 
Yet  they  are  not  Proud. — Their  Sad-Facedness. — De- 
cayed Divinities.  —  As  Gods  in  Egypt.  —  From  Grave 
to  Gay.  —  What  do  the  Apes  think  of  us  ?  —  The  Eti- 
quette of  Scratching. — "  The  New  Boy  "  of  the  Monkey- 
House.  —  They  take  Notes  of  us.  —  Man-Ape  Puzzles. 
—  The  Soko.  — Missing  Links. 

II.     HUNTING  OF  THE  SOKO 127 

"  My  lords,  a  solemn  hunting  is  in  hand." 

Titus  Andronicus. 

"It  is  no  gentle  chase." —  Venus  and  Adonis. 

"  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  execrable  shape, 
That  darest,  though  grim  and  terrible,  to  advance 
Thy  miscreated  front  ?  " — Paradise  Lost. 

"  You  do  it  wrong,  being  so  majestical, 
To  offer  it  the  show  of  violence."  —  Hamlet. 

"  God  made  him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass  for  a  man. " 

Portia. 

"With  a  groan  that  had  something  terribly  human  in 
it,  and  yet  was  full  of  brutishness,  the  man-ape  fell  for- 
ward on  his  face."  —  Du  Cltaillu. 


xii  Contents. 

PAGE 

III.  ELEPHANTS 152 

They  are  Square  Animals  with  a  Leg  at  each  Corner  and  a 
Tail  at  both  Ends.  — "  My  Lord  the  Elephant. "  —  That 
it  picks  up  Pins.  —  The  Mammoth  as  a  Missionary  in 
Africa.  —  An  Elephant  Hunt  with  the  Prince.  —  Ele- 
phantine Potentialities.  —  A  Mad  Giant.  —  Bigness  not 
of  Necessity  a  Virtue.  —  A  Digression  on  the  Meekness 
of  Giants. 

IV.  THE  ELEPHANTS'  FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN      .    .     .  170 

The  Rhinoceros  a  Victim  of  Ill-Natured  Personality. —  In 
the  Glacial  Period.  —  The  Hippopotamus.  —  Popular 
Sympathy  with  it. — Behemoth  a  Useless  Person. — 
Extinct  Monsters  and  the  World  they  Lived  in.  —  The 
Impossible  Giraffe.  —  Its  Intelligent  use  of  its  Head  as 
a  Hammer.  —  The  Advantages  and  Disadvantages  of  so 
much  Neck.  —  Its  High  Living.  —  The  Zebra,  — 
Nature's  Parsimony  in  the  matter  of  Paint  on  the 
Skins  of  Animals.  —  Some  Suggestions  towards  more 
Gayety. 

V.    CATS  AND  SPARROWS 186 

They  are  of  Two  Species,  tame  and  otherwise.  —  The  Arti- 
ficial Lion.  —  Its  Debt  of  Gratitude  to  Landseer  and  the 
Poets. — Unsuitable  for  Domestication. —  Is  the  Natural 
Lion  the  King  of  Beasts  ?  —  The  true  Moral  of  all  Lion 
Fables.  —  "  Well  roared,  Lion  !  "—The  Tiger  not  of  a 
Festive  Kind.  —  There  is  no  Nonsense  about  the  Big 
Cats.  —  The  Tiger's  Pleasures  and  Perils.  —  Its  Terrible 
Voice. — The  poor  Old  Man-Eater.  —  Caught  by  Baboos 
and  Killed  by  Sheep.  —  The  great  Cat  Princes.  —  Com- 
mon or  Garden  Cats,  approached  sideways.  —  The  Phys- 
ical Impossibility  of  Taxing  Cats.  —  The  Evasive  Habits 
of  Grimalkin.  —  Its  Instinct  for  Cooks.  —  On  the  Roof 
with  a  Burglar.  —  The  Prey  of  Cats.  —  The  Turpitude 
of  the  Sparrow.  —  As  an  Emblem  of  Conquest  and  an 
Article  of  Export.  —  The  Street  Boy  among  Birds. 


Contents.  xiii 

PACK 

VI.  BEARS  —  WOLVES  —  DOGS  —  RATS  .....  227 
Bears  are  of  three  kinds,  Big  Bears,  Middle-sized  Bears, 
and  Little  Wee  Bears.  —  Easily  Provoked.  —  A  Protest 
of  Routine  against  Reform.  —  But  Unreliable.  —  Un- 
fairly Treated  in  Literature.  —  How  Robbers  went  to 
steal  the  Widow's  Pig,  but  found  the  Bear  in  the  Sty. 

—  The  Delightful  Triumph  of  Convictions  in  the  Nur- 
sery. —  The  Wild  Hunter  of  the  Woods.  —  Its  Splendid 
Heroism.  —  Wolf-men.  —  Wolf-dogs.  —  Dogs  we  have 
all  met.  —  Are  Men  only  Second-rate  Dogs  ?  —  Their 

.  Emotions  and  Passions  the  same  as  ours.  —  The  Art  of 
Getting  Lost.  —  Man  not  inferior  to  Dogs  in  many  ways. 

—  The  Rat  Epidemic  in  India.  —  Endemic  in  England. 

—  Western  Prejudice  and  Eastern  Tenderness.  —  Emblems 
of  Successful  Invasion.  —  Their  Abuse  of  Intelligence. 

—  Edax  Rerum. 

VII.    SOME  SEA-FOLK     ...........  262 

Ocean-folk.  —  Mermaids  and  Manatees.  —  The  Solemnity 
of  Shapelessness.  —  Herds  of  the  Sea-gods.  —  Sea-  things. 

—  The  Octopus  and  its  Kind.  —  Terrors  of  the  Deep 
Sea.  —  Sea-serpents.  —  Credible  and   Incredible  Varie- 
ties. —  Delightful  possibilities  in  Cuttle-fish.  —  Ancient 
and  Fish-like  Monsters.  —  Credulity  as  to   Monsters, 
Disastrous.  —  Snakes  in  Legend  and  in  Nature.  —  Mr. 
Ruskin   on    Snakes.  —  The   Snake-folk.  —  Shesh,   the 
Snake-god.  —  Primeval  Turtles  and  their  Contemporary 
Aldermen.  —  Impropriety  of  Flippancy  about  Turtles. 


Part  IV.    Etjle  ^ours  untoer  tfje 

I.     THE  MAN-EATING  TREE  .........  295 

"  But  say,  where  grows  this  Tree,  from  hence  how  far  ?  " 

Eve  to  Serpent. 
"  On  the  blasted  heath 
Fell  Upas  sits,  the  Hydra-tree  of  death."  —  Darwin. 

"  Here  the  foul  harpies  build  their  nests. 

.  .  .  With  rueful  sound, 

Perched  in  the  dismal  tree,  they  fill  the  air."  —  Dante. 

"  Not  a  tree  to  be  found  in  the  valley.     Not  a  beast  or 
bird,  or  any  living  thing,  lives  in  its  vicinity."  —  Foersck. 


xiv  Contents. 

PACK 

II.    EASTERN  SMELLS  AND  WESTERN  NOSES  ....  306 

"  We  confess  that  beside  the  smell  of  species  there  may 
be  individual  odours  ;  .  .  .  but  that  an  unsavoury  odour  is 
gentilitious  or  national,  if  rightly  understood,  we  cannot 
well  concede,  nor  will  the  information  of  reason  or  sense 
induce  it."  —  Sir  TJws.  Browne. 
"  A  nose  stood  in  the  middle  of  her  face."  —  logo. 
"  A  good  nose  is  requisite  also,  to  smell  out  work  for  the 
other  senses."  —  Autolycus. 

"The  literature  of  Noses  is  extensive.  Sterne  has  a 
chapter  on  them  in  '  Tristram  Shandy  ; '  and  other  authors 
have  contributed  respectively  'A  Sermon  on  Noses,'  'On 
the  Dignity,  Gravity,  and  Authority  of  Noses,'  'The 
Noses  of  Adam  and  Eve,'  'Pious  Meditations  on  the 
Nose  of  the  Virgin  Mary,'  '  Review  of  Noses.'  Shake- 
speare was  never  tired  of  poking  fun  at  the  nose  or  drawing 
morals  from  it,  but  what  is  more  remarkable  it  might  easily 
be  proved  constructively,  from  what  he  has  said,  that  he 
believed,  with  Professor  Jager,  that '  the  nose  is  the  soul.'  " 

Orielana. 
HI.    GAMINS 316 

"  They  are  not  dirty  by  chance  —  or  accident  —  say 
twice  or  thrice  per  diem,  but  they  are  always  dirt}-. " 

Christopher  North. 

"  Oh,  for  my  sake  do  you  with  Fortune  chide, 
The  guilty  goddess  of  my  harmful  deeds, 
That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide 
Than  public  means,  which  public  manners  breeds. 

Sonnet  (Shakespeare). 

IV.    OF  TAILORS 326 

"  Some  foolish  knave,  I  think,  it  first  began 

The  slander  that  three  tailors  are  one  man."  —  Taylor. 
"  0  monstrous  arrogance  !     Thou  liest,  thou  thread, 
Thou  thimble  ; 

Thou  yard,  three  quarters,  half-yard,  quarter,  nail  ; 
Thou  flea,  thou  nit,  thou  winter  cricket,  thou,  — 
Braved  in  mine  own  house  with  a  skein  of  thread  ! 
Away,  thou  rag,  thou  quantity,  thou  remnant  !  " 

Taming  of  tJie  Shrew. 


Contents.  xv 

PAGB 

"  Give  the  gods  a  thankful  sacrifice.  When  it  pleaseth 
their  deities  to  take  the  wife  of  a  man  from  him,  it  shows 
to  man  the  tailors  of  the  earth."  —  Antony  and  Cleopatra. 

"  A  tailor  makes  a  man  ?  "     "  Aye,  a  tailor,  sir."  —  Lear. 

"Remember  how  Master  Feeble,  'the  forcible  Feeble,' 
proved  himself  the  best  of  Falstaffs  recruits  ;  with  what 
discretion  Robin  Starveling  played  the  part  of  Thisby's 
mother  before  the  Duke,  and  do  not  forget  to  their  credit 
the  public  spirit  of  the  tailors  of  Tooley  Street." — Oridana. 

"  I  have  an  honest  lad  to  my  taylor,  who  I  never  knew 
guilty  of  one  truth  —  no,  not  when  it  had  been  to  his 
advantage  not  to  lye."  — Montaigne. 

V.  THE  HARA-KIRI 330 

"  Escape  in  death  from  obloquy  I  sought, 
Though  just  to  others,  to  myself  unjust."  —  Dante. 

"The  pitiful,  pitiless  knife."  —  Tennyson. 
"  Oh  !  happy  dagger."  —  Juliet. 

VI.  MY  WIFE'S  BIRDS .341 

VII.    THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  BLAMELESS  PRIEST  .    .    .  359 


UNDER    THE    SUN. 


UNDER   THE   SUN. 


Ridentem  dicer e  verum,  quid  vetal  f 

IPIAVE  it  not  in  my  nature  to  look  at  the  animal 
world  merely  as  a  congregation  of  beasts.  Nor  can 
I  bring  myself  to  believe  that  everything,  whether  in 
fur,  feathers,  or  scales,  was  created  for  my  own  special 
benefit  as  a  human  being.  Man  was  not  created  till 
the  sixth  day,  and  is  therefore  the  junior  among  the 
animals.  It  took  no  better  effort  of  creative  will  to 
produce  him  than  to  produce  caterpillars.  Moreover, 
earth  was  already  populated  before  he  came,  and  suffi- 
ciently complete  without  him.  He  was  a  noble  after- 
thought. Indeed,  rather  than  maintain  that  man  was 
created  "  higher  than  the  beasts,"  for  the  increase  of 
his  own  self-importance,  I  would  believe  that  he  was 
created  "a  little  lower  than  the  angels,"  for  the  in- 
crease of  his  humility. 

At  an}'  rate,  I  prefer  to  think  of  the  things  of  "  the 
speechless  world"  as  races  of  fellow  creatures  that 
have  a  very  great  deal  in  common  with  ourselves, 
but  whom  the  pitiless  advance  of  human  interests  is 


Under  the  San. 


perpetually  dispossessing,  and  who  are  doomed  to  ex- 
tinction under  the  Jnggernath  of  civilization.  Nature 
builds  only  upon  ruins.  The  driving-wheel  of  Progress 
is  Suffering. 

Thus,  so  much  the  more  should  we  feel  tenderly 
towards  the  smaller  lives  about  us,  the  things  that  the 
Creator  has  placed  amongst  us  to  enjoy  the  same  earth 
as  ourselves,  but  whom  we  compel  to  serve  us  so  long 
as  they  can,  and  to  die  out  when  our  end  is  served. 
Except  in  Holy  Writ  there  is  nothing  so  beautiful  or  so 
manful  as  the  teaching  of  Buddha,  the  evangelist  of 
universal  tenderness  ;  and  approaching  nature  we  ought 
to  remember  that  it  is  the  very  Temple  of  temples, 
and  that  we  may  not  minister  there  unless  we  have  on 
the  ephod  of  pity. 

You  will  think,  no  doubt,  that  if  I  feel  so  seriously, 
I  ought  not  to  try  to  make  fun  out  of  these  animals  and 
birds  and  fishes  and  insects.  But  why  not?  Ridentem 
dicere  verum,  quid  vetat?  Besides,  I  know  that  if  it 
were  wrong  to  laugh  over  monkeys  and  cats  and  giraffes, 
I  should  feel  that  it  was  —  and  would  n't  do  it.  But,  at 
any  rate,  if  I  say  anything  in  this  book  that  either  the 
beasts  or  their  friends  think  unkind  or  unjust,  I  am 
sorry  for  it.  Attribute  it,  Reader,  to  want  of  knowl- 
edge, not  to  want  of  sympathy ;  and  if  you  would  be 
generous  do  not  think  me  too  much  in  earnest  when  I 
am  serious,  nor  altogether  in  fun  because  I  jest. 

One  of  the  very  few  positive  facts  we  have  about 
Adam  is  that  he  gave  names  to  all  the  living  things  in 
Eden:  not  of  course  those  by  which  even  antiquity 
knew  them,  but  names  such  as  Primitive  Man,  wher- 


Under  the  Sun. 


ever  he  still  exists,  distinguishes  the  creatures  about 
him  by.  To  him,  for  instance,  the  squirrel  is  "the 
thing  that  sits  in  the  shadow  of  its  tail,"  and  in  Akka- 
dian nomenclature  there  is  no  lion,  but  only  "the  great- 
voiced  one."  We  have  only  to  see  how  the  Red  Indians 
individualize  their  fauna,  to  understand  the  nature  of 
Adam's  names. 

But  to  be  able  to  name  the  creatures,  furred  and 
feathered,  with  such  picturesque  appropriateness  argues 
a  knowledge  of  their  habits  founded  upon  personal 
observation,  and  the  legend  therefore  that  tells  us  how 
the  Angels  failed  to  execute  the  orders  of  the  Creator 
is  not  at  all  an  absurd  one.  Allah,  it  is  said,  told  the 
Angels  —  who  were  sneering  at  man  —  to  name  the 
animals,  and  they  tried  to  do  so,  but  could  not.  So 
then  he  turned  to  Adam,  and  the  Angels  stood  listen- 
ing, ashamed,  as  the  patriarch  drew  a  picture  of  each 
creature  in  a  word.  The  angelic  host  of  course  had  no 
sympathy  with  them.  Indeed,  perhaps,  they  had  no 
knowledge  whatever  of  the  earth  and  its  things  ;  for  it 
is  possible,  as  Milton  supposes,  that  the  Angels  never 
left  the  upper  sky  except  on  special  missions.  With 
Adam  it  was  different.  In  his  habits  of  daily  life  he  was 
in  the  closest  sympathy  with  other  animals,  and  virtually 
one  of  themselves.  Each  beast  and  bird  therefore,  as 
it  passed  before  him,  suggested  to  him  at  once  some 
distinguishing  epithet,  and  he  found  no  difficulty  in 
assigning  to  ever}"  individual  an  appropriate  name,  and 
appointing  each  his  proper  place  in  the  sj'stem  of  crea- 
tion. Now,  Adam  was  probably  nothing  of  an  analo- 
gist,  but  he  was  certainly  the  father  of  naturalists. 

It  is  generally  supposed  that  this  system  has  now 
developed  into  an  unconstitutional  monarchy,  but  there 


Under  the  Sun. 


is  much  more  to  be  said  011  the  side  of  its  being  an 
oligarch}'. 

Thus  in  the  beginning  of  days  all  power  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  Titans,  the  mammoths  and  the  mastodons 
of  antiquity ;  but  in  time  a  more  vigorous  race  of  beasts 
was  gradually  developed,  and  the  Saturn  and  Tellus, 
Ops  and  Typhon,  of  the  primeval  earth  were  one  by  one 
unseated  and  dispossessed  of  power  by  the  younger 
creatures,  —  the  eagles  of  Jupiter  and  the  tigers  of 
Bacchus,  the  serpents  of  Athene  and  the  wolves  of 
Mars. 

The  elder  rulers  of  the  wild  world  accepted  at  their 
hands  the  dignity  of  extinction ;  and  instead  of  a  few 
behemoths,  lording  it  over  the  vast  commonwealth  of 
the  earth,  there  were  developed  man}-  nations  of  lesser 
things,  divided  into  their  tribes  and  clans,  and  trans- 
acting, each  within  their  own  countries,  all  the  duties 
of  life,  exercising  the  high  functions  of  authority,  and 
carrying  on  the  work  of  an  orderly  world. 

On  land,  the  tiger  and  the  lion,  the  python,  the  polar 
bear  and  the  grizzly,  gradual!}'  rose  to  the  acknowl- 
edged dignity  of  crowned  heads.  In  the  air  there  was 
the  royal  condor  and  the  eagle,  with  a  peerage  of  fal- 
cons. In  the  mysterious  empire  of  the  sea  there  was  but 
one  supreme  authority,  the  sea-serpent,  with  its  terrible 
lieutenants,  the  octopus  and  the  devil-fish. 

Yet  none  of  these  are  absolute  autocrats  beyond  the 
immediate  territory  they  reside  in.  They  have  all  to 
pay  in  vexed  boundaries  the  penalty  of  extended  domin- 
ion. Thus,  though  the  tiger  may  be  supreme  in  the 
jungles  of  the  Himalayan  Terai,  he  finds  upon  his  wild 
Naga  frontier  the  irreconcilable  rhinoceros,  and  in  the 
fierce  Guzerati  country  there  is  the  inaneless  lion.  Up 


Under  the  Sun. 


among  the  hills  are  the  fearless  Ghoorkha  leopards  ;  and 
in  the  broken  lowlands  along  the  river  that  stout  old 
Rohilla  thakoor,  the  wild  boar,  resents  all  royal  inter- 
ference. The  lion,  again,  they  say,  is  king  in  Africa, 
yet  the  gorilla  Zulus  it  over  the  forests  within  the  lion's 
territory  ;  the  ostrich  on  the  plain  despises  all  his  man- 
dates, and  in  the  earldom  of  the  rivers  the  crocodile 
cares  nothing  for  his  favor  or  his  wrath.  The  lion, 
indeed,  claims  to  be  king  of  the  beasts ;  but,  loud  as 
his  roar  is,  it  does  not  quite  reach  across  the  Atlantic, 
and  we  find  the  puma  not  only  asserting  leonine  au- 
thority, but  actually  usurping  the  royal  title  as  "the 
American  lion  ;  "  just  as  in  Africa,  under  the  lion's  very 
nose,  the  leopard  claims  an  equality  of  power  by  calling 
itself  "the  tiger."  The  polar  bear  can  command  no 
homage  from  the  walrus,  nor  the  grizzly  bear  lev}'  taxes 
from  the  bison.  The  python,  "  the  emperor"  of  Mexican 
folk-lore,  has  none  to  attack  him,  but  on  the  other  hand, 
he  does  not  venture  to  treat  the  jaguar  as  a  serf. 

Among  the  birds  of  the  air,  though  eagles  are  kings, 
the  raven  asserts  a  melancholy  supremacy  over  the 
solitudes  of  wildernesses,  and  the  albatross  is  mon- 
arch of  the  waves.  No  one  will  den}*  the  aristocracy 
of  the  flamingo,  the  bustard,  or  the  swan,  or  dispute 
the  nobility  of  the  ibis  on  the  Nile,  or  of  the  birds 
of  Paradise  in  their  leafy  Edens  of  the  Eastern  Seas. 
For  pretenders  to  high  place  we  have  the  peacock  and 
the  vulture  ;  and  as  democrats,  to  incite  the  proletariat 
of  fowldom  to  disaffection  and  even  turbulence,  we  need 
not  search  further  than  the  crows. 

In  the  sea,  the  Kraken  is  king.  It  is  the  hierophant 
of  the  oceanic  mysteries,  secret  as  a  Prince  of  the 
Assassins  or  Veiled  Prophet,  and  sacred  from  its  very 


8  Under  the  Sun. 


secrecy,  like  the  Lama  of  Thibet  or  the  Unseen  God 
of  the  Tartars.  Yet  there  are  those  who  dispute  the 
weird  majesty  of  the  hidden  potentate,  for  the  whales, 
to  north  and  south,  enjoy  a  limited  sovereignty,  while 
all  along  the  belt  of  the  tropics  the  pirate  sharks 
scourge  the  sea-folk  as  they  will. 

Even  this,  after  all,  is  too  narrow  a  view  of  the  wild 
world.  And  I  find  myself,  catholic  as  I  am  in  my 
regard  for  the  things  in  fur  and  feathers,  offending  very 
often  against  the  dignity  of  beasts  and  birds.  How 
easy  it  is,  for  instance,  to  misunderstand  the  animals  ; 
to  think  the  worse  of  the  bear  for  sulking,  when  it  is 
only  weary  of  seeking  explanation  for  its  captivity  ;  to 
quarrel  with  the  dulness  of  a  caged  fish-haWk  that  sits 
dreaming  of  spring-time  among  the  crags  that  overlook 
Lake  Erie.  Remember  the  geese  of  Apfel,  and  take 
the  moral  of  their  story  to  heart.  I  have  told  it  before, 
I  know,  but  morals  are  never  obsolete. 

A  farmer's  wife  had  been  making  some  cherry  brandy  ; 
but  as  she  found,  during  the  process,  that  the  fruit  was 
unsound,  she  threw  the  whole  mess  out  into  the  yard, 
and,  without  looking  to  se'e  what  followed,  shut  down 
the  window. 

Now,  as  it  fell  out,  a  party  of  geese,  good  fellows  all 
of  them,  happened  to  be  waddling  by  at  the  time,  and, 
seeing  the  cherries  trundling  about,  at  once  investi- 
gated them.  The  preliminary  inquiry  proving  satisfac- 
toiy,  these  misguided  poultry  set  to  and  swallowed  the 
whole  lot.  "No  heeltaps "  was  the  order  of  the  carouse  ; 
and  so  they  finished  all  the  cherries  off  at  one  sitting, 
so  to  speak. 

The  effect  of  the  spirituous  fruit  was  soon  apparent, 
for  on  trying  to  make  the  gate  which  led  from  the  scene 


Under  the.  Sun. 


of  the  debauch  to  the  horsepond,  the}-  found  everj'thing 
agaiust  them.  Whether  a  high  wind  had  got  up,  or 
what  had  happened,  they  could  not  tell,  but  it  seemed 
to  the  geese  as  if  there  was  an  uncommonly  high  sea 
running,  and  the  ground  set  in  towards  them  with  a 
strong  steady  swell  that  was  most  embarrassing  to 
progress.  To  escape  these  difficulties  some  lashed 
their  rudders  and  hove  to,  others  tried  to  run  before  the 
wind,  while  the  rest  tacked  for  the  pigst}r.  But  there 
was  no  living  in  such  weather,  and  one  by  one  the  craft 
lurched  over  and  went  down  all  standing. 

Meanwhile  the  dame,  the  unconscious  cause  of  this 
disaster,  was  attracted  b}^  the  noise  in  the  fowl-yard, 
and  looking  out  saw  all  her  ten  geese  behaving  as  if 
the}*  were  mad.  The  gander  himself,  usuall}'  so  solemn 
and  decorous,  was  balancing  himself  on  his  beak,  and 
spinning  round  the  while  in  a  prodigious  flurry  of 
feathers  and  dust,  while  the  old  grey  goose,  remarkable 
even  among  her  kind  for  the  circumspection  of  her 
conduct,  was  lying  stomach  upwards  in  the  gutter, 
feebly  gesticulating  with  her  legs.  Others  of  the  party 
were  no  less  conspicuous  for  the  extravagance  of  their 
attitudes  and  gestures,  while  the  remainder  were  to  be 
seen  tying  in  a  helpless  confusion  of  feathers  in  the  lee 
scuppers,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  gutter  by  the  pigsty. 

Perplexed  by  the  spectacle,  the  dame  called  in  her 
neighbors,  and  after  careful  investigation  it  was  de- 
cided in  counsel  that  the  birds  had  died  of  poison. 
Under  these  circumstances  their  carcasses  were  worth 
nothing  for  food,  but,  as  the  neighbors  said,  their 
feathers  were  not  poisoned,  and  so,  the  next  day  being 
market  day,  they  set  to  work,  then  and  there,  and 
plucked  the  ten  geese  bare.  Not  a  feather  did  they 


10  Under  the  Sun. 


leave  ou  the  gander,  not  a  tuft  of  down  on  the  old  grey 
goose ;  and,  the  job  completed,  the}'  left  the  dame  with 
her  bag  full  of  plumage  and  her  ten  plucked  geese,  not 
without  assuring  her,  we  may  be  certain,  of  their  sym- 
pathy with  her  in  her  loss. 

Next  morning  the  good  woman  got  up  as  usual  and, 
remembering  the  feathers  down  stairs,  dressed  betimes, 
for  she  hoped,  thrifty  soul,  to  get  them  off  her  hands 
that  very  day  at  market.  And  then  she  bethought  her 
of  the  ten  plucked  bodies  lying  out  under  the  porch, 
and  resolved  that  they  should  be  buried  before  she  went. 
But  as  she  approached  the  door,  on  these  decent  rites 
intent,  and  was  turning  the  key,  there  fell  on  her  ears 
the  sound  of  a  familiar  Aroice  —  and  then  another  —  and 
another  —  until  at  last  the  astonished  dame  heard  in  full 
chorus  the  well-known  accents  of  all  her  plucked  and 
poisoned  geese  !  The  throat  of  the  old  gander  sounded, 
no  doubt,  a  trifle  husky,  and  the  grey  goose  spoke  in 
muffled  tones  suggestive  of  a  chastening  headache  ;  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  .those  voices,  and  the  dame, 
fumbling  at  the  door,  wondered  what  it  all  might  mean. 

Has  a  goose  a  ghost?  Did  an}'  one  ever  read  or  hear 
of  a  spectre  of  a  gander  ? 

The  key  turned  at  last ;  the  door  opened,  and  there, 
quacking  in  subdued  tones,  suppliant  and  shivering, 
stood  all  her  flock !  There  they  stood,  the  ten  miser- 
able birds,  with  splitting  headaches  and  parched  tongues, 
contrite  and  dejected,  asking  to  have  their  feathers  back 
again.  The  situation  was  painful  to  both  parties.  The 
forlorn  geese  saw  in  each  other's  persons  the  humiliating 
reflection  of  their  own  condition,  while  the  dame,  guiltily 
conscious  of  that  bag  full  of  feathers,  remembered  how 
the  one  lapse  of  Noah,  —  in  that  "  aged  surprisal  of  six 


Under  the  Sun.  11 


hundred  }-ears,  and  unexpected  inebriation  from  the  un- 
known effects  of  wine,"  —  has  been  excused  by  religion 
and  the  unanimous  voice  of  posterit}'.  She,  and  her 
neighbors  with  her,  however,  had  hastily  misjudged  the 
geese,  and,  finding  them  dead  drunk,  had  stripped  them, 
without  remembering  for  a  moment  that  if  feathers  are 
easy  to  get  off  they  are  ve^-hard  to  put  on.  Here  were 
the  geese  before  her,  bald,  penitent,  and  shaking  with 
the  cold.  There  in  the  corner  were  their  feathers,  in  a 
bag.  But  how  could  they  be  brought  together?  Even 
supposing  each  goose  could  recognize  its  own,  how  were 
they  to  be  reclothed?  Tarring  and  feathering  were  out 
of  the  question,  for  that  would  be  to  add  insult  to  injury  ; 
and  to  try  to  stick  all  the  feathers  into  their  places  again, 
one  by  one,  was  a  labor  such  as  only  folk  in  fairy  tales 
could  ever  hope  to  accomplish. 

So  she  called  in  her  neighbors  again  ;  but  they  proved 
only  sorry  comforters,  for  they  reminded  her  that  after 
all  the  fault  was  her  own,  that  it  was  she  and  no  one 
else  who  had  thrown  the  brandied  cherries  to  the  geese. 
The  poor  fowls,  brought  up  to  confide  in  her,  and  repay- 
ing her  care  of  them  by  trustful  reliance,  could  never, 
her  neighbors  said,  have  been  expected  to  guess  that 
when  she  threw  the  vinous  fruit  in  their  path  she,  their 
own  familiar  mistress,  at  whose  hands  the}7  looked  for  all 
that  was  good,  could  have  intended  to  betray  them  into 
the  shocking  excesses  of  intoxication,  and  deceive  them 
to  their  ruin.  Yet  so  it  had  been.  Accepting  the  feast 
spread  out  before  them,  the  geese  had  partaken  gladly, 
gratefully,  freel}-,  of  the  insidious  cherry  ;  and  the  result 
was  this,  that  the  geese  were  in  one  place  and  their 
feathers  were  in  another !  At  last,  weary  of  the  re- 
proaches of  her  friends,  the  widow  gathered  all  her  bald 


12  Under  the  Sun. 


poultry  about  her  round  the  kitchen  fire,  and  sat  down  to 
make  them  flannel  jackets,  —  registering  a  solemn  vow, 
as  she  did  so,  never  to  jump  hastily  at  conclusions  about 
either  bird  or  beast,  lest  she  might  again  fall  into  the 
error  of  misconstruing  their  conduct. 

The  mischief,  however,  was  done  ;  for  the  geese,  who 
had  got  drunk  with  brandied  cherries,  and  been  plucked 
by  mistake  in  consequence,  had  good  reason  for  with- 
holding from  human  beings  for  ever  afterwards  that  pleas- 
ing trustfulness  which  characterizes  the  domestic  fowl. 
They  would  never  again  approach  their  food  without 
suspicion,  nor  look  upon  a  gathering  of  the  neighbors 
except  as  a  dark  conspiracy  against  their  feathers.  The 
dame  herself,  whom  hitherto  they  had  been  wont  to 
greet  with  tumultuous  acclaim,  and  whose  footsteps  to 
and  fro  they  had  been  accustomed  to  follow  so  closely, 
would  become  to  them  an  object  of  distrust.  Instead 
of  tumbling  over  each  other  in  their  glad  hurry  to  meet 
her  in  the  morning,  or  crowding  round  her  full  of  gossip 
and  small  goose-confidences  when  she  came  to  pen 
them  up  for  the  night,  they  would  eye  her  askance 
from  a  distance,  approach  her  onty  strategically,  and  ac- 
cept her  gifts  with  reproachful  hesitation.  And  how 
keenly  the  dame  would  feel  such  estrangement  I  leave 
my  readers  to  judge  for  themselves. 

This  untoward  inebriation  of  the  geese  points,  how- 
ever, another  lesson  ;  for  I  cannot  but  see  in  it  one  more 
of  those  deplorable  instances  of  moral  deterioration  of 
the  animal  world  which  from  time  to  time  obtrude  them- 
selves, unwelcome,  upon  the  notice  of  lovers  of  nature. 

In  Belgium  and  other  places  men  try  to  make  dogs 
believe  they  are  donkej's  or  ponies  by  harnessing  them 


Under  the  Sun.  13 


to  carts,  but  the  attempt  can  never  succeed ;  for  a  dog 
thus  employed  will  always  be  a  very  indifferent  donkey, 
and  never  a  good  dog.  In  Paris,  again,  the  other  day 
a  man  demoralized  all  his  bees  by  bringing  their  hives 
into  the  city  and  putting  them  down  next  a  sugar 
warehouse.  The  bees,  hitherto  as  pure-minded  and 
upright  insects  as  one  could  have  wished  to  meet  in  a 
summer's  day,  developed  at  once  an  unnatural  aversion 
to  labor,  and  a  not  less  unnatural  tendency  to  larceny. 
Instead  of  winging  their  industrious  way  to  the  distant 
clover-fields,  and  there  gathering  the  innocent  honey, 
they  swarmed  in  disorderly  mobs  upon  the  sugar  casks 
next  door,  and  crawled  about  with  their  ill-gotten  burdens 
upon  the  surrounding  pavement.  The  owner  of  the  h'ives 
benefited  immensely  by  the  proximity  of  the  saccharine 
deposits,  but  it  was  at  the  sacrifice  of  all  moral  tone  in 
the  bees  which  he  had  tempted  and  which  had  fallen. 

We  never  tire  of  protesting  against  the  unnatural  rela- 
tions of  lion  and  lion-tamer,  and  of  reminding  the  keepers 
of  menageries  that  instinct  is  irrepressible,  untamable, 
and  immortal ;  and  every  now  and  then  a  lion,  tired  of 
foolery,  knocks  a  man  into  mummy.  The  narrative  is 
always  the  same,  whether  it  happens  at  San  Francisco 
or  at  Birmingham.  A  lion's  keeper  goes  into  the  beast's 
cage  to  clean  it,  and  having,  as  he  supposed,  seen  all 
the  occupants  safely  out,  sets  to  work.  As  it  hap- 
pens, however,  the  sliding  door  which  divides  the  two' 
compartments  of  the  cage  has  not  fallen  securely  into 
its  place,  and  an  old  lion,  seeing  his  opportunity,  springs 
at  the  opening.  The  door  gives  wa}T,  and  the  next 
instant  the  beast  has  seized  his  keeper.  A  number  of 
people,  powerless  of  course  to  give  assistance,  are  look- 
ing on ;  but  fortunately  there  is  also  present  some  pro- 


14  Under  the  Sun. 


fessional  lion-tamer,  belonging  to  the  establishment, 
and  this  man,  with  great  courage,  rushes  straight  into 
the  cage  and  confronts  the  lion.  Discipline  and  a  loaded 
stick  triumph  over  instinct.  The  lion  releases  its  prey 
and  the  unfortunate  keeper  is  at  once  dragged  out. 

Now  it  is  easy  enough,  after  such  an  incident  as  this, 
to  talk  of  lions  as  savage  brutes,  and  then  to  moralize 
over  the  foolhardiness  of  men  who  have  grown  accus- 
tomed to  lions,  and  think  that  lions  have  therefore 
grown  accustomed  to  them.  But  surely  it  is  much  more 
just  to  the  animals  to  remember  that  it  is  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  for  a  flesh-eating  animal  to 
spring  at  meat  when  it  sees  it  within  its  reach. 

The  marvel,  indeed,  in  these  narratives  alwa}-s  is  the 
lion's  forbearance.  In  the  end  that  staggering  blow 
right  between  the  eyes  is  accepted  by  him  as  a  very 
forcible  argument ;  but  before  the  gallant  lion-tamer 
comes  to  his  friend's  rescue,  at  such  a  terrible  risk  to 
himself,  the  lion  has  always  had  plenty  of  time  to  do 
what  he  liked  with  the  keeper  he  had  caught,  or  at  any 
rate  to  gobble  up  a  good  luncheon.  When  a  lion  is  in 
a  hurry  it  does  not  as  a  rule  take  him  long  to  make  a 
meal ;  but  in  the  accidents  that  occur  in  menageries  it 
does  not  seem  to  occur  to  the  beast  that  there  is  any 
necessity  for  haste.  Long  captivity  has  made  his  practices 
unnatural.  He  has  forgotten  his  old  habits  of  hurried  feed- 
ing. He  had  caught  a  man  sure  enough,  for  there  the 
man  was,  and  it  was  quite  early  in  the  morning.  But  he 
had  all  the  day  before  him,  so  he  thought;  and,  though 
he  remarked  that  there  was -a,  great  deal  of  unusual  ex- 
citement on  the  other  side  of  his  bars,  and  that  the 
human  beings  who  were  generally  so  leisurely  seemed 
strangely  flurried  about  something  on  this  particular  oc- 


Under  the  Sun.  15 


casion,  he  had  the  cage  to  himself,  and  there  was  110 
occasion  that  he  saw  for  making  a  hurried  meal.  But 
he  had  misunderstood  the  facts  of  the  case.  He  had  no 
right  to  eat  the  keeper,  for  the  man  had  only  come  in  to 
clean  his  cage,  and  not  to  be  eaten.  The  excitement 
outside  was  owing  to  the  lion's  own  inconsiderate  and 
greedy  conduct.  But  if  they  did  not  want  him  to  eat 
the  keeper,  why  did  they  put  him  into  the  cage? 


PART   I. 
INDIAN    SKETCHES, 


PART    I. 
INDIAN   SKETCHES. 

I. 

IN    MY  INDIAN   GARDEN. 

A  GARDEN  everywhere  is  to  the  natural  world 
beyond  its  walls  very  much  what  a  good  Review 
number  is  to  the  rest  of  literature.  Shrubs  and  flowers, 
indigenous  or  of  distant  derivation,  jumbled  together, 
attract  an  equally  miscellaneous  congregation  .of  birds 
and  insects,  and  by  their  fresher  leaves,  brighter  blos- 
soms, or  juicier  fruit,  detain  for  a  time  the  capricious  and 
fastidious  visitors.  An  Indian  Garden  is  par  excellence 
Nature's  museum  —  a  gallerj*  of  curiosities  for  the  indif- 
ferent to  admire,  the  interested  to  study.  It  is  a  Trav- 
ellers' Club,  an  (Ecumenical  Council,  a  Parliament  of 
buzzing,  humming,  chirping,  and  chattering  things. 

The  great  unclouded  sky  is  terraced  out  by  flights 
of  birds.  Here,  in  the  region  of  trees,  church- spires, 
and  house-tops,  flutter  and  have  their  being  the  myriad 
tribes  who  plunder  while  the}'  share  the  abodes  of  men  ; 
the  diverse  crew  who  jostle  on  the  earth,  the  lowest 
level  of  creation,  with  mammals,  and  -walk  upon  its 
surface  plantigrade ;  the  small  birds  whose  names 
children  learn,  whom  schoolboys  snare,  and  who  fill 
the  shelves  of  museums  as  the  Insessores,  or  birds  that 
perch.  They  are  the  commonalty  of  birddom,  who  fur- 
nish forth  the  mobs  which  bewilder  the  drunken-flighted 
jay  when  he  jerks,  shrieking,  in  a  series  of  blue  hyphen- 
flashes  through  the  air,  — or  which,  when  some  owlet,  as 


18  Indian  Sketches. 


unfortunate  as  foolish,  has  let  itself  be  jostled  from  its 
cos}7  hole  beneath  the  thatch  out  into  the  glare  of  day- 
light,  —  crowd  round  the  blinking  stranger  and  unkindly 
jeer  it  from  amongst  them.  These  are  the  ground-floor 
tenants,  our  every-day  walk  acquaintances,  who  look  up 
to  crows  as  to  Members  of  Congress,  and  think  no  mean 
thing  of  green  parrots.  And  yet  there  are  among  them 
many  of  a  notable  plumage  and  song,  more  indeed  than 
among  the  aristocracy  of  Volucres  ;  just  as,  if  the  Indian 
proverb  goes  for  aught,  there  are  more  pretty  women 
among  the  lowest  (the  mehter)  than  any  other  caste.  On 
the  second  floor,  where  nothing  but  clear  ether  checks 
their  flight,  swim  the  great  eagles,  the  knightly  falcons, 
and  the  vultures,  —  grand  when  on  their  wide,  loose 
pinions  the}7  float  and  circle,  —  sordid  only,  like  the 
gods  of  old,  when  they  stoop  to  earth.  These  divide  the 
peerage  of  the  skies,  and  among  them  is  universal  a  fine 
purity  of  color  and  form  —  a  nobility  of  power.  They 
are  all  princes  among  the  feathered  tribes,  gentle  and 
graceful  as  they  wheel  and  recurve  undisturbed  in  their 
own  high  domains,  but  fierce  in  battle  and  terribly  swift 
when  they  shoot  down  to  earth,  their  keen  vision  cover- 
ing half  a  province,  their  cruel  cry  shrilling  to  the  floors 
of  heaven.  See  them  now,  with  no  quarry  to  pursue,  no 
battle  to  fight,  and  mark  the  exceeding  beauty  of  their 
motion.  In  tiers  above  each  other  the  shrill-voiced 
kites,  their  sharp-cut  wings  bent  into  a  bow,  their  tail, 
a  third  wing  almost,  spread  out  fanwise  to  the  wind,  — 
the  vultures  parallel,  but  wheeling  in  higher  spheres  on 
level  pinions, — the  hawk,  with  his  strong  bold  flight, 
smiting  his  way  up  to  the  highest  place ;  while  far 
above  him,  where  the  sky-roof  is  cobwebbed  with  white 
clouds,  float  dim  specks,  which  in  the  distance  seem 


In  my  Indian  Garden.  19 

hardly  moving —  the  sovereign  eagles.  They  can  stare 
at  the  sun  without  blinking ;  we  cannot,  so  let  us  turn 
our  03*68  lower  —  to  the  garden  level.  Ah  !  pleasant 
indeed  was  my  Indian  Garden.  Here  in  a  green  colon- 
nade stand  the  mysterious,  broad-leaved  plantains  with 
their  strange  spikes  of  fruit,  —  there  the  dark  mango. 
In  a  grove  together  the  spare-leaved  peepul,  that  sacred 
}-et  treacherous  tree  that  drags  down  the  humble  shrine 
which  it  was  placed  to  sanctify ;  the  shapely  tamarind, 
with  its  clouds  of  foliage  ;  the  graceful  neem  ;  the  patul- 
ous  teak,  with  its  great  leathern  leaves,  and  the  bam- 
boos the  tree-cat  loves.  Below  them  grow  a  wealth 
of  roses,  the  lavender-blossomed  durantas,  the  cactus, 
grotesque  in  growth,  the  poyntzettia  with  its  stars  of 
scarlet,  the  spiky  aloes,  the  sick-scented  jessamine,  and 
the  quaint  coral-trees  ;  while  over  all  shoots  up  the 
palm.  The  citron,  lime,  and  orange-trees  are  beautiful 
alike  when  they  load  the  air  with  the  perfume  of  their 
waxen  flowers,  or  when  they  are  snowing  their  sweet 
petals  about  them,  or  when  heavy-fruited  the}*  trail  their 
biwlened  branches  to  rest  their  yellow  treasure  on  the 
ground. 

And  how  pleasant  in  the  cool  evening  to  sit  and 
watch  the  garden's  visitors.  The  crow-pheasant  stalks 
past  with  his  chestnut  wings  drooping  by  his  side,  the 
magpie  with  his  curious  dreamland  note  climbs  the  tree 
overhead,  the  woodpeckers  flutter  the  creviced  ants,  the 
sprightly  bulbul  tunes  his  throat  with  crest  erect,  the 
glistening  flower-pecker  haunts  the  lilies,  the  oriole 
flashes  in  the  splendor  of  his  golden  plumage  from  tree 
to  tree,  the  bee-eater  slides  through  the  air,  the  doves 
call  to  each  other  from  the  shady  guava  grove,  the 
poultry  — 


20  Indian  SketcJies. 


Poultry?  Yes,  they  do  not,  it  is  true,  strictly  apper- 
tain to  gardens,  but  rather  to  hen-houses  and  stable- 
yards,  to  the  outskirts  of  populous  places  and  the 
remoter  corners  of  cultivated  fields.  Yet  they  are  — 
and  that  not  seldom  —  to  be  found  and  met  with  in  gar- 
dens where,  if  ill-conditioned,  they  do  not  scruple  to 
commit  an  infinity  of  damage  by  looking  inquisitively, 
albeit  without  judgment,  after  food,  at  the  roots  of 
plants,  and  by  making  for  themselves  comfortable  hol- 
lows in  the  conspicuous  corners  of  flower-beds,  wherein, 
with  a  notable  assiduity,  the}-  sit  to  ruffle  their  feathers 
during  the  early  hours  of  sunshine.  These  pastimes  are 
not,  however,  without  some  hazard  to  the  hens,  for 
thereby  they  render  themselves  both  obnoxious  to  man- 
kind and  noticeable  by  their  other  enemies.  A  cat  who 
has  two  minds  about  attacking  a  fowl  when  in  a  decent 
posture  and  enjoying  herself  as  a  hen  should  do,  does 
not  hesitate  to  assault  her  when  met  with  in  a  dust-hole, 
—  her  feathers  all  set  the  wrong  way,  and  in  an  ecstasy 
of  titillation.  A  kite  will  swoop  from  the  blue  to  see 
what  manner  of  eatable  she  ma}-  be ;  nor,  when  sha  is 
laying  bare  the  roots  of  a  rosebush,  is  the  gardener  re- 
luctant to  stone  her,  whereb}r  the  hen  is  caused  some 
personal  inconvenience  and  much  mental  perturbation, 
determining  her  to  escape  (always,  let  it  be  noticed,  in 
the  wrong  direction)  with  the  greatest  possible  precipi- 
tanc}'.  These  same  hens  are,  I  think,  the  most  foolish 
of  fowls  ;  for  on  this  point  the  popular  proverb  that 
makes  a  goose  to  be  a  fool  is  in  error,  as  the  goose  is  in 
reality  one  of  the  most  cunning  of  birds,  even  in  a 
domestic  state,  while  in  a  wild  state  there  are  few  birds 
to  compare  with  it  for  vigilance.  The  hen,  however, 
is  an  extraordiuaiy  fool,  and  in  no  circumstance  of  life 


In  my  Indian  Garden.  21 

does  she  behave  with  a  seemly  composure.  Should  a 
bird  pass  overhead  she  immediately  concludes  that  it  is 
about  to  fall  upon  her  head ;  while  if  she  hears  an}f 
sound  for  which  she  cannot  satisfactorily  account  to  her- 
self, she  sets  up  a  woeful  clucking,  in  which,  after  a  few 
rounds,  she  is  certain  to  be  joined  by  all  the  comrades 
of  her  sex,  who  foregather  with  her  to  cluck  and  croon, 
though  they  have  not  even  her  excuse  of  having  heard 
the  original  noise.  But  their  troubles  are  many. 

Life  is  manj'-sided.  Indeed,  you  may  examine  it 
from  so  many  standpoints  that  had  }'ou  even  the  hun- 
dred eyes  of  Argus,  and  each  eye  hundred-faceted  like 
the  orb  of  a  dragon-fly,  }TOU  could  not  be  a  master  of 
the  subject  from  all  sides.  And  yet  how  often  does  the 
man  who  has  surveyed  his  neighbors  from  two  points 
only —  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  and  the  top — affect  to 
have  exhausted  the  experience  of  life !  For  Man  to 
dogmatize  wisely  on  this  life  is  to  argue  simplicity 
in  it. 

For  instance,  have  you  ever  looked  at  life  from  the 
standpoint  of  a  staging-house  fowl?  Perhaps  not ;  but  it 
is  instructive  nevertheless  as  exemplifying  the  recipro- 
city of  brain  and  bodj-,  and  showing  how  one  trait  of 
character,  by  exaggerated  development,  may  develop  and 
exaggerate  certain  features  physical  as  well  as  mental, 
obliterate  others,  and  leave  the  owner  as  skeletonized  in 
mind  as  in  body.  Suspicion  is  the  fungus  that,  taking 
root  in  the  mind  of  the  dak-bungalow  fowl,  strangles  all 
its  finer  feelings  (though  fostering  self-reliance),  and 
makes  the  bird's  daily  life  miserable.  Think  of  the 
lives  cursed  b}T  suspicion,  and  confer  your  pit}'  on  the 
hen,  —  Cromwell  shitting  from  bedroom  to  bedroom, 
and  the  roval  Louis  refusing  food.  Adam  Smith  was 


22  Indian  Sketches. 


stolen  in  infancy  by  gypsies,  and  his  parents  lived  ever 
•afterwards  in  terror  for  the  rest  of  their  children.  But 
what  was  this  compared  to  the  life  of  the  staging-house 
fowl?  His  whole  life  is  spent  in  strategy.  Every 
advance  in  his  direction  is  a  wile,  each  corner  an  am- 
buscade, and  each  conclave  of  servants  a  cabal. 
With  every  sun  comes  a  Rye-House  Plot  for  the 
wretched  bird,  and  before  evening  he  has  had  to  run 
the  gauntlet  of  a  Vehm-gericht.  His  brother,  suspi- 
cious yet  all  too  confiding,  would  trust  no  one  but  the 
wife  of  the  grain  dealer  who  lived  at  the  corner ;  and 
this  single  confidence  cost  him  his  life.  So  our  bird 
trusts  no  one. 

Indeed,  now  that  I  come  mj'self  to  think  seriously 
of  the  staging-house  fowl,  I  would  not  hesitate  to 
say  that  the  washerman's  donkey  has  the  better  life. 
The  donkey  can  remember  childhood's  years  as  an  in- 
terval of  frivolit}'  and  light-heartedness ;  and  even  in 
maturer  life  it  is  free  (with  three  of  its  legs) ,  after  the 
day's  work  is  over,  to  disport  itself  with  its  kind.  But 
the  case  is  different  with  the  bird.  Pullets  of  the  ten- 
dei'est  }*ears  are  sought  out  for  broth ;  adolescence  is 
beset  with  peril  in  hardl}-  a  less  degree  than  puberty ; 
while  alas  !  old  age  itself  is  not  respected.  Like  Japa- 
nese youth  it  lives  with  sudden  death  ever  in  prospect ; 
but  the  hara-kiri  in  the  case  of  the  fowl  is  not  an  hon- 
orable termination  of  life,  while  the  lively  apprehen- 
sion of  it  unwholesomely  sharpens  its  vigilance.  It  has, 
moreover,  nothing  to  live  on  and  plenty  of  it ;  and  this 
diet  affects  its  physique,  inasmuch  as  it  prevents  the 
increase  of  flesh,  while  the  constant  evasion  of  death 
develops  its  muscles  —  the  thigh-bones  assuming  vul- 
turine  dimensions.  The  feathers,  by  frequent  escap- 


In  my  Indian  Garden.  23 

ings  through  small  holes,  became  ragged  and  irregular ; 
the  tail  is  systematically  discarded  as  being  dangerous 
and  a  handle  to  ill-wishers.  Death  therefore  must 
come  upon  some  of  them  as  a  sharp  cure  for  life  —  il 
est  mort  gueri. 

But  to  others  it  is  the  bitter  end  of  a  life  of  peril- 
ous pleasure,  —  to  such  a  one  perhaps  as  the  follow- 
ing. The  bird  I  speak  of  was  a  fine  3'oung  cock,  a 
Nazarene  in  his  unclipt  wings,  with  the  columnar  legs 
of  an  athlete,  snatching  life  by  sheer  pluck  and  dying 
without  disgrace.  His  death  happened  in  this  wise. 
There  came  up  the  hill  one  day  some  travellers  with 
whom  the  cook  at  the  staging-house  wished  to  stand 
well,  and  when  they  asked,  "  What  is  there  to  eat?  "  he 
replied  with  suavit}-,  "  Whatever  3"our  honors  choose  to 
order."  So  they  ordered  beef  and  then  mutton,  but 
there  being  neither,  they  desisted  from  "  ordering"  and 
left  it  to  the  cook  to  arrange  their  meal.  And  he  gave 
them  soup  made  of  an  infant  poult,  two  side-dishes 
composed  of  two  elder  brothers,  a  fine  fowl  roasted,  by 
iray  of  joint,  and  the  grandmother  of  the  family  fur- 
nished forth  a  curry.  And  one  of  the  party  watched 
the  dinner  being  caught.  With  the  soup  there  was 
little  difficulty,  for  it  succumbed  to  a  most  obvious 
fraud.  The  side-dishes  fell  victims  to  curiosity,  for 
while  the\'  were  craning  their  necks  into  the  cook-room 
door,  a  hand  came  suddenly  round  the  corner  and  closed 
upon  them.  The  curry,  poor  old  soul,  was  taken  in 
her  afternoon  sleep.  But  the  roast,  the  bird  italicized 
above,  showed  sport,  as  well  it  might.  For  seven 
months  it  had  daily  evaded  death,  scorning  alike  the 
wiles  of  the  cook  and  the  artifices  of  his  minions. 
Nothing  would  tempt  it  during  the  day  within  the  en- 


24  Indian  Sketches. 


closure  in  which  so  many  of  its  family  had  lost  their 
lives,  and  as  it  roosted  high  up  in  the  walnut-tree  behind 
the  bungalow,  night  surprises  were  out  of  the  question. 
Whenever  travellers  came  in  sight  it  would  either  fly  on 
to  the  roof  of  the  bungalow,  and  thence  survey  the  prep- 
arations for  dinner  ;  or,  slipping  away  quietly  over  the 
cliff,  would  enjoy  healthful  ease  in   some  sequestered 
nook,  whither  was  borne,  tempered  by  distance  and  the 
comfortable  sense  of  security,  the  last  screech  of  the 
less  wary.    But  its  da}'  had  come.  The  fig-tree  had  drunk 
of  the  Neda.     The  travellers  had  been  expected.    An  hour, 
therefore,  before  the}-  came  in  sight  preparations  were 
made  for  the  great  capture  ;  and,  when  on  the  appearance 
of  the  first  horseman,  the  fowl  turned  as  usual  to  escape, 
he  found  two  boys  on  the  roof  of  the  bungalow,  six 
more  up  the  walnut-tree,  and  a  cordon  of  men  round  the 
yard.    There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  trust  to  its  wings  ; 
so  mounting  on  the  wall  he  flew  for  his  life.     And  his 
strong  wings  bore  him  bravely  —  up  over  the  fowl-yard 
and  the  goat-house  and  the  temple,  over  the  upturned 
faces  of  the  shouting  men  —  up  into  the  unbroken  sky. 
Below  him,  far,  far  down  he  saw  the  silver  thread  of 
water  that  lay  along  the  valley  between  the  hills.     But 
there  was  a  worse  enemy  than  man  on  the  watch  —  a 
hungry  eagle.     And  on  a  sudden  our  flier  saw,  between 
him  and  the  red  sunset,  the  king  of  birds  in  kingly  flight 
towards  him,   and   stopping  himself  in   his  course  he 
came  fluttering  down  —  poor  Icarus  ! — to  the  friendly 
covert  of  earth  with  outspread  wings.     But  the  eagle 
with  closed  pinions  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  plumb  from 
out   the   heavens,   and   striking   him   in   mid-sky  sent 
him  twirling  earthward  ;   then,  swooping  down  again, 
grasped  him  in  his  yellow  talons  before  he  touched  the 


In  my  Indian  Garden.  25 

ground,  and,  rising  with  slow  flight,  winged  his  burdened 
way  to  the  nearest  resting-place  —  the  roof  of  the  staging- 
house.  But  his  exploit  had  been  watched,  and  hardly 
had  his  feet  touched  the  welcome  tiles  before  a  shower 
of  sticks  and  stones  rained  round  him.  One  pebble 
struck  him,  and,  rising  hastily  at  the  affront,  his  prey 
escaped  his  talons  and,  rolling  over  and  over  down  the 
roof,  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  exultant  cook  !  But  the 
scream  of  the  baffled  eagle  drowned  the  death-cry  of 
the  fowl. 


26  Indian  Sketches. 


II. 

VISITORS   IN  FEATHERS. 

AMONG  the  common  objects  of  my  Indian  Garden 
is  the  Corvus  splendens.  Such  at  any  rate  is 
the  scientific  name  given  by  Vieillot  to  that  "  treble- 
dated  bird,"  the  common  crow  of  India,  and  although 
one  naturalist  yearned  to  change  it  to  "  shameless " 
(impudicus) ,  and  although  another  still  declares  that 
splendens  is  inappropriate  and  tends  to  bring  scientific 
nomenclature  into  ridicule,  that  bird  —  as  was  only  to 
be  expected  from  a  crow  —  has  kept  its  mendacious 
adjective,  and  in  spite  of  every  one  is  still,  in  name,  as 
fine  a  bird  in  India  as  it  was  time  out  of  mind  in 
Olympus.  Splendens  or  not  at  present,  the  crow  must 
have  had  recommendations  either  of  mind  or  person  to 
have  been  chosen,  as  Ovid  tells  us  it  was,  as  the  mes- 
senger-bird of  so  artistic  a  deity  as  Apollo.  But  the 
crow  lost  paradise  —  and  good  looks  with  it  —  not  for 
one  impulsive  act,  but  for  a  fortnight's  hard  sinning. 
Now  punishment  has  a  hardening  influence  on  some 
people,  and  it  has  had  a  most  dreadful  effect  on  the 
corvine  disposition.  Heedless  of  all  moral  obligations, 
gluttonous,  and  a  perverter  of  truth,  Ovid  tells  us  it 
was,  even  in  its  best  days  ;  but  now  it  has  developed  into 
a  whole  legion  of  clevilr}*.  Lest  a  Baboo  should  think 
to  trip  me  up  by  throwing  Menu  in  my  teeth  and  quoting 
from  the  great  lawgiver,  ' '  A  good  wife  should  be  like  a 


Visitors  in  Feathers.  27 

crow,"  I  would  give  it  as  my  opinion  that  Menu,  when 
he  said  this,  referred  to  that  doubtful  virtue  of  the  crow 
that  forbids  any  exhibition  of  conjugal  tenderness  before 
the  public  eye,  —  an  unnatural  instinct  and  reserve,  to 
my  thinking.  Crows  cannot,  like  young  sweeps,  be 
called  "  innocent  blacknesses,"  for  their  nigritude  is  the 
livery  of  sin,  the  badge  of  crime,  like  the  scarlet  V  on 
the  shoulder  of  the  convict  voleur,  the  dark  brand  on 
Cain's  brow,  the  snow-white  leprosy  of  Gehazi,  or  the 
yellow  garb  of  Norfolk  Islander ;  and  yet  they  do  not 
wear  their  color  with  humility  or  even  common  decency. 
The}*  swagger  in  it,  pretending  they  chose  that  exact 
shade  for  themselves.  Did  the}*  not  do  this,  perhaps 
Jerdon  would  not  have  begrudged  them  their  flattering 
name,  nor  Hodgson  have  called  them  impudicos^  but 
by  their  effrontery  they  have  raised  every  man's  hand 
against  them  ;  and  were  they  anything  but  crows,  they 
must  have  had  to  take,  like  Ishmael  the  son  of  Hagar, 
to  the  desert.  Perhaps  it  is  that  they  presume  upon 
their  past  honors.  If  so,  they  should  beware.  Cole's 
dog  was  too  proud  to  move  out  of  the  way  of  a  cart  of 
manure,  and  Southey  has  told  us  his  fate.  Again,  their 
Greek  and  Latin  glories  have  had  a  serious  counterpoise 
in  the  writings  of  modern  ancients,  where  the  nature  of 
crows  is  proven  as  swart  as  their  Ethiop  faces.  Is  it 
not  written  in  the  Singhalese  Pratyasataka  that  nothing 
can  improve  a  crow  ?  Students  of  Burton  will  remem- 
ber that  in  the  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  devils  (including 
sprites  and  such  like  devilkins)  are  divided  into  nine 
classes  ;  for  though  Bodine  declared  that  all  devils  must 
of  necessity  be  spherical  in  shape,  perfect  rounds,  his 
theory  we  are  expressly  told  was  quashed  by  Zaminchus, 
who  proved  that  they  assume  divers  forms,  "  sometimes 


28  Indian  Sketches. 


those  of  cats  and  crows."  Zaminchus  was  doubtless 
right,  and  no  one,  therefore,  should  feel  any  tenderness 
for  these  shreds  of  Satan,  these  cinders  from  Tartarus. 
Zaminchus  superfluously  adds  that  in  these  forms  they 
are  ''more  knowing  than  any  human  being"  (qitovis 
homine  scientior)  ;  and  another  old  writer  just  as  need- 
lessly tells  us  that  these  "  terrestrial  devils"  are  in  the 
habit  of  "  flapping  down  platters"  and  "  making  strange 
noises."  Some, "however,  may  urge  that  because  some 
crows  are  devils,  it  does  not  follow  that  all  are.  This 
is  plausible  but  unworthy  of  the  subject,  which  should 
be  studied  in  a  liberal  spirit  and  without  hair-splitting. 
When  King  John  killed  Jews,  he  didn't  first  finically 
investigate  if  they  were  usurers ;  he  knew  they  were 
Jews,  and  that  was  enough.  Besides,  did  any  one  ever 
see  a  crow  that  was  not  ' '  quovis  homine  scientior  "  ?  If  he 
did,  he  proved  it  by  putting  it  to  death,  and,  as  dead 
crows  count  for  nothing,  that  individual  bird  cannot  be 
cited  as  a  case  in  point.  Further,  do  not  all  crows 
"flap  down  platters"  (when  they  get  the  chance)  and 
"make  strange  noises"?  Are  not  these  unequivocal 
signs  of  bedevilment?  Do  not  Zaminchus,  Bustius,  and 
Cardan  agree  on  this  point?  Does  not  the  old  Chinese 
historian  lay  it  down  that  in  the  south  of  Sweden  is 
situate  "the  land  of  crows  and  demons"?  Is  there 
not  in  Norway  a  fearful  hill  called  Huklebrig,  whither 
and  whence  fiery  chariots  are  commonly  seen  by  the 
country  people  carrying  to  and  fro  the  souls  of  bad  men 
in  the  likeness  of  crows?  Crows,  then,  are  indubitably 
the  connecting  link  between  devils,  Class  3,  "  inventors 
of  all  mischief,"  Prince  Belial  at  their  head,  —  and  Class 
4,  "malicious  devils,"  under  Prince  Asmodeus.1  An 

1  I  have  here  preferred  to  adopt  Burton's  classification.  —  P.  R. 


Visitors  in  Feathers.  29 

inkling  of  their  fallen  state  seems  to  be  floating  in  the 
cere  bra  of  crows,  for  they  sin  naturally  and  never  beg 
pardon.  Did  an}r  one  ever  see  a  contrite  and  repentant 
crow  ?  When  taken  flagrante  delicto  does  this  nobody's 
child  provoke  commiseration  b\~  craven  and  abject  pos- 
tures, deprecating  anger  b}"  looks  of  penitence?  Quite 
the  contrary.  These  birds,  if  put  to  it,  would  deny  that 
they  stole  Cicero's  pillow  when  he  was  dying ;  or  that 
they  sat,  the  abomination  of  desolation,  where  they 
ought  not  —  profaning  the  Teraphim  of  John  de  Mont- 
fort,  insulting  his  household  gods  and  desecrating  his 
Penates,  while  in  the  next  room  that  great  soldier  and 
statesman  was  receiving  the  last  consolations  of  Ex- 
treme Unction  ?  Yet  it  is  known  they  did.  They  tread 
the  earth  as  if  the}'  had  been  always  of  it.  And  yet  it 
pleases  me  to  remember  how  Indra,  in  wrath  for  their 
tale-bearing,  —  for  had  they  not  carried  abroad  the 
secrets  of  the  Councils  of  the  Gods  ?  —  hurled  the 
brood  down  through  all  the  hundred  stages  of  his 
Heaven.  Petruchio  thought  it  hard  to  be  braved  in  his 
own  house  by  a  tailor,  and  the  tailor  by  an  elephant ; 
how  keenly  either  would  have  felt  the  familiarity  of  In- 
dian crows  !  In  the  verandahs  they  parade  the  reverend 
sable  which  they  disgrace ;  they  walk  in  the  odor  of 
sanctity  through  open  doors,  sleek  as  Chadband,  wily  as 
Pecksniff.  Their  step  is  grave,  and  they  ever  seem  on 
the  point  of  quoting  Scripture,  while  their  eyes  are 
wandering  on  carnal  matters.  Like  Stiggins,  they  keep 
a  sharp  lookout  for  tea-time.  They  hanker  after  flesh- 
pots.  They  are  as  chary  of  their  persons  as  the  bam- 
boo of  its  blossom,  and  distant  to  strangers.  In 
England  they  pretend  to  be  rooks  (except  during  rook- 
shooting),  but  in  India  they  brazen  it  out  upon  their 
own  infamous  individuality  —  for  there  are  no  rooks. 


30  Indian  Sketches. 


Another  prominent  visitor  of  n^  garden  is  the  green 
parrot.  It  is,  I  think,  Cervantes  who  has  recorded  the 
fact  that  Theophrastus  complained  "of  the  long  life 
given  to  crows."  Now  the  argument  of  this  complaint 
is  not  so  superficial  as  at  first  it  seems,  and  really  con- 
tains internal  evidence  of  a  knowledge  of  bird-nature. 
Theophrastus,  I  take  it,  grumbled  not  simply  because 
crows  did  in  a  long  life  get  through  more  mischief  than 
other  birds  can  in  a  shorter  one,  but  because,  if  Atropos 
were  onlv  more  impartially  nimble  with  her  shears,  crows 
would  never  be  able  to  get  through  an}*  mischief  at  all. 
And  in  this  lies  a  great  point  of  difference  between  the 
sombre  crow  and  the  daedal  parrot. 

The  crow  requires  much  time  to  develop  and  perfect 
his  misdemeanors ;  the  parrot  brings  his  mischiefs  to 
market  in  the  green  leaf.  While  a  crow  will  spend  a 
week  with  a  view  to  the  ultimate  abstraction  of  a  key, 
the  parrot  will  have  scrambled  and  screeched  in  a  day 
through  a  cycle  of  larcenous  gluttonies,  and  before  the 
crow  has  finishing  reconnoitring  the  gardener,  the  parrot 
has  stripped  the  fruit-tree. 

From  these  differences  in  the  characters  of  the  birds, 
I  hold  that  Theophrastus  chose  "  crows  "  advisedly,  and 
made  his  complaint  with  judgment ;  but  I  wonder  that, 
having  thus  headed  a  list  of  grievances,  he  did  not  con- 
tinue it  with  a  protest  against  the  green  color  given  to 
parrots.  The  probable  explanation  of  the  oversight  is 
that  he  never  saw  a  green  parrot.  But  we  who  do  see 
them  have  surely  a  reasonable  cause  for  complaint, 
when  nature  creates  thieves  and  then  gives  them  a 
passport  to  impunity.  For  the  green  parrot  has  a 
large  brain  (some  naturalists  would  like  to  see  the 
Psittacid  famity  on  this  account  rank  first  among  birds), 


Visitors  in  Feathers.  31 

and  he  knows  that  he  is  green  as  well  as  we  do,  and, 
knowing  it,  he  makes  the  most  of  nature's  injudicious 
gift.  He  settles  with  a  screech  among  your  mangoes, 
and  as  you  approach,  the  phud  !  phud  !  of  the  falling 
fruitlings  assures  you  that  he  is  not  gone.  But  where 
is  he  ?  Somewhere  in  the  tree,  you  may  be  sure,  prob- 
ably with  an  unripe  fruit  in  his  claw,  which  is  raised 
half  way  to  his  beak,  but  certainly  with  a  round  black 
63-6  fixed  on  you  ;  for,  while  you  are  straining  to  distin- 
guish green  feathers  from  green  leaves,  he  breaks  with 
a  sudden  rush  through  the  foliage,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  tree,  and  is  off  in  an  apotheosis  of  screech  to  his 
watch-tower  on  a  distant  tree.  To  give  the  parrot  his 
due,  however,  we  must  remember  that  he  did  not  choose 
his  own  color,  —  it  was  thrust  upon  him  ;  and  we  must 
further  allow  that,  snob  as  he  is,  he  possesses  certain 
manly  virtues.  He  is  wanting  in  neither  personal  cour- 
age, assurance,  nor  promptitude,  but  he  abuses  these 
virtues  by  using  them  in  the  service  of  vice.  Moreover,- 
he  is  a  glutton,  and,  unlike  his  neighbors,  the  needle  of 
his  thoughts  and  endeavors  always  points  towards  his 
stomach.  The  starlings,  bigots  to  a  claim  which  they 
have  forged  to  the  exclusive  ownership  of  the  croquet 
ground,  divide  their  attention  for  a  moment  between 
worms  and  intruders.  The  kite  forbears  to  flutter  the 
dove-cotes  while  he  squeals  his  love-song  to  his  mate  ; 
the  hawk  now  and  again  affords  healthy  excitement  to  a 
score  of  crows  who  keck  at  him  as  he  flaps  unconcerned 
on  his  wide,  ragged  wings  through  the  air.  "  Opeechee, 
the  robin,"  has  found  a  bird  smaller  than  himself,  and  is 
accordingly  pursuing  it  relentlessly  through  bush  and 
brier;  the  thinly  feathered  babblers  are  telling  each 
other  the  secret  of  a  mungoose  being  at  that  moment 


32  Indian  Sketches. 


in  the  water-pipe ;  while  the  squirrels,  sticking  head 
downwards  to  their  respective  branches,  are  having  a 
twopenn}'-half-penny  argument  across  the  garden  path. 
Meanwhile,  the  green  parrot  is  desolating  the  fruit-tree. 
Like  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  they  never  can  eat  a  few 
of  anything,  and  his  luncheons  are  all  heavy  dinners. 
"  That  frugal  bit  of  the  old  Britons  of  the  bigness  of 
a  bean,"  which  could  satisfy  the  hunger  and  thirst  of 
our  ancestors  for  a  whole  day,  would  not  suffice  the 
green  parrot  for  one  meal,  for  not  only  is  his  appetite 
inordinate,  but  his  wastefulness  also,  and  what  he  can- 
not eat  he  destroys.  He  enters  a  tree  of  fruit  as  the 
Visigoths  entered  a  building.  His  motto  is,  "  What  I 
cannot  take  I  will  not  leave,"  and  he  pillages  the 
branches,  gutting  them  of  even  their  unripest  fruit. 
Dr.  Jerdon,  in  his  Birds  of  India,  records  the  fact  that 
"owls  attack  these  birds  by  night,"  and  there  is,  ill- 
feeling  apart,  certainly  something  very  comfortable  in 
the  knowledge  that  while  we  are  warm  a-bcd  owls  are 
most  probably  garrotting  the  green  parrots. 

I  have  spoken  elsewhere,  with  some  inadvertence,  of 
"the  Republic  of  Birds;"  although  by  my  own  show- 
ing—  for  I  write  of  sovereign  eagles  and  knightly 
falcons  —  the  constitution  of  the  volucrine  world  is  an 
unlimited  monarchy,  of  which  the  despotism  is  only 
tempered  by  the  strong  social  bonds  that  lend  strength 
to  the  lower  orders  of  birds.  The  tyrant  kite  is  power- 
less before  the  corvine  Vehm-gericht ;  and  it  is  with 
hesitation  that  the  hawk  offers  violence  to  a  sparrows' 
club.  But  there  are  undoubtedly  among  the  feathered 
race  some  to  whom  a  republic  would  present  itself  as 
the  more  perfect  form  of  government,  and  to  none  more 
certainly  than  the  mj-nas.1  The  myna  is,  although  a 
1  Sturnince,  the  Starlings. 


Visitors  in  Feathers.  33 

moderate,  a  very  decided  republican,  for,  sober  in  mind 
as  in  apparel,  he  sets  his  face  against  such  vain  frivoli- 
ties as  the  tumbling  of  pigeons,  the  meretricious  dancing 
of  peafowl,  and  the  gaudy  bedizenment  of  the  minivets  ; 
holdiug  that  life  is  real,  life  is  earnest,  and,  while  worms 
are  to  be  found  beneath  the  grass,  to  be  spent  in  serious 
work.  To  quote  "  ane  aunciente  clerke,"  he  "  obtests 
against  the  chaunting  of  foolish  litanies  before  the  idols 
of  one's  own  conceit "  ;  would  "  chase  awa}'  all  bewilder- 
ing humors  and  fancies  "  ;  and  would  say  with  the  clerke 
' '  that,  though  the  cautelous  tregoetour,  or,  as  the  men 
of  France  do  call  him,  the  jongleur,  doth  make  a  very 
pretty  play  with  two  or  three  balls  which  seem  to  live 
in  the  air,  and  which  do  not  depart  from  him,  }'et  I 
would  rather,  after  our  old  English  fashion,'  have  the 
ball  tossed  from  hand  to  hand,  or  that  one  should  pro- 
pulse  the  ball  aginst  the  little  guichet,  while  another 
should  repel  it  with  the  batting  staff.  This  I  hold  to  be 
the  fuller  exercise."  The  myna  therefore  views  with 
some  displeasure  the  dilettante  hawking  of  bee-eaters 
and  the  leisurely  deportment  of  the  crow-pheasant,  can- 
not be  brought  to  see  the  utilit}-  of  the  luxurious  hoo- 
poe's crest,  and  loses  all  patience  with  the  koel-cuckoo 
for  his  idle  habit  of  spending  his  forenoons  in  tuning  his 
voice.  For  the  patient  kingfisher  he  entertains  a  mod- 
erate respect,  and  he  holds  in  esteem  the  industrious 
woodpecker ;  but  the  scapegrace  parrot  is  an  abomina- 
tion to  him  ;  and  had  he  the  power,  the  myna  would 
altogether  exterminate  the  race  of  humming-birds  for 
their  persistent  trifling  over  lilies.  Life  with  him  is  all 
work,  and  he  makes  it,  as  Souvestre  says,  "a  legal 
process."  Of  course  he  has  a  wife,  and  she  celebrates 
each  anniversary  of  spring  b}*  presenting  him  with  a 


34  Indian  Sketclies. 


nestful  of  young  im*nas,  but  her  company'  rather  sub- 
dues and  sobers  him  than  makes  him  frivolous  or  giddy  ; 
for  as  the  myna  is,  his  wife  is,  —  of  one  complexion  of 
feather  and  mind.  A  pair  of  m}Tnas  (for  these  discreet 
birds  are  seldom  seen  except  in  pairs)  remind,  one  of 
a  Dutch  burgher  and  his  frau.  They  are  comfortably 
dressed,  well  fed,  of  a  grave  deportment,  and  so  respec- 
table that  scandal  hesitates  to  whisper  their  name.  In 
the  empty  babble  of  the  Seven  Sisters,  the  fruitless 
controversies  of  finches,  the  bickerings  of  amatory  spar- 
rows (every  sparrow  is  at  heart  a  rake),  or  the  turmoil  of 
kites,  they  take  no  part,  —  holding  aloof  alike  from  the 
monarchical  exclusiveness  of  the  jealous  Raptores  and 
the  democratic  communism  of  crows.  The  gourd  will  not 
climb  on  the  olive,  and  the  olive-tree,  it  is  said,  will  not 
grow  near  the  oak.  Between  the  grape  of  story  and  the 
cabbage  there  is  a  like  antipathy,  "  and  everlasting  hate 
the  vine  to  ivy  bears."  The  apple  detests  the  walnut, 
"  whose  malignant  touch  impairs  all  generous  fruit." 
So  with  the  nvyna.  It  shrinks  from  the  neighborhood 
of  the  strong,  and  resents  the  companionship  of  the 
humble.  But  among  vegetables,  if  there  is  antipathy 
there  is  also  sympathy ;  for  does  not  the  Latin  poet  say 
that  the  elm  loves  the  vine?  Country  folk  declare  that 
the  fig  grows  best  near  rue ;  and  the  legend  ballad  of 
the  Todas  tells  us  how  the  cachew  apple  droops  when 
the  cinnamon  dies.  But  among  the  mynas  there  is  no 
such  profligacy  or  tenderness,  and  over  the  annihilation 
of  the  whole  world  of  birds  they  would  be  even  such 
"  pebble  stones  "  as  Launce's  dog.  At  the  same  time 
they  are  not  intrusive  with  their  likes  and  dislikes.  If 
the  squirrel  chooses  to  chirrup  all  day,  they  let  him  do 
so,  and  they  offer  no  opposition  to  the  ostentatious  com- 


Visitors  in  Feathers.  35 

bats  of  robins.  Nor  do  the}'  trespass  on  their  neighbors 
with  idle  curiosity.  That  butterflies  should  m3-steriously 
migrate  in  great  clouds,  moving  against  the  wind  across 
wide  waters,  and  even  tempt  the  ocean  itself  with 
nothing  more  definite  than  the  horizon  before  them  as 
a  resting-place,  ma}r  set  the  inquisitive  crow  thinking, 
or  furnish  Humboldt  with  matter  for  long  conjecturing ; 
but  the  mynas  would  express  no  surprise  at  the  phe- 
nomenon. They  waste  no  time  wondering  with  others 
why  the  wagtail  so  continuously  wags  its  tail,  nor  would 
they  vex  the  Syrian  coney  with  idle  questions  as  to  its 
preference  for  rocky  places.  Such  things  have  set  oth- 
ers a-thinking,  and  would  make  the  leaf-loving  squirrel 
silly  with  surprise  ;  but  the  Essene  myna  !  —  "  Let  the 
world  revolve,"  he  saj's  ;  "  we  are  here  to  work,  and  in 
the  name  of  the  Prophet  —  worms."  He  comes  of  a 
race  of  poor  antecedents,  and  has  no  lineage  worth 
boasting  of.  The  crow  has  Greek  and  Latin  memories ; 
and  for  the  antiquit}'  of  the  sparrow  we  have  the  testi- 
mony of  Holy  Writ.  It  is  true  that  in  the  stories  of 
India  the  myna  has  frequent  and  honorable  mention ; 
but  the  authors  speak  of  the  hill-bird —  a  notable  fowl, 
with  strange  powers  of  mimicry,  and  alwa3-s  a  favorite 
with  the  people,  — and  not  of  the  homely  Quaker  bird  who 
so  diligently  searches  our  grass-plots,  and  may  be  seen, 
from  dawn  to  twilight,  busy  at  his  appointed  work,  the 
consumption  of  little  grubs.  The  lust  of  the  green  par- 
rot for  orchard  brigandage,  or  of  the  proud-stomached 
king-crow  for  battle  with  his  kind,  are  as  whimsical 
caprices,  fancies  of  the  moment,  when  compared  to  the 
steady  assiduity  with  which  this  Puritan  bird  pursues 
the  object  of  his  creation.  And  the  result  is  that  the 
myna  has  no  wit.  Like  the  Germans,  he  is  incompara- 


36  Indian  Sketches. 

ble  at  hard,  uushowy  work,  but  they  —  as  one,  a  wit, 
himself,  has  said  of  them  —  are  only  moderately  mirth- 
ful in  their  humor.  Intelligence  is  his,  of  a  high  order, 
for,  busy  as  he  may  be,  the  nvpia  descries  before  all 
others  the  far-away  speck  in  the  sky  which  will  grow 
into  a  hawk,  and  it  is  from  the  imma's  ciy  of  alarm  that 
the  garden  becomes  first  aware  of  the  danger  that  is 
approaching.  But  wit  he  has  none.  His  only  way  of 
catching  a  worm  is  to  lay  hold  of  its  tail  and  pull  it  out 
of  its  hole,  —  generally  breaking  it  in  the  middle,  and 
losing  the  bigger  half.  He  does  not  tap  the  ground  as 
the  wryneck  will  tap  the  tree,  to  stimulate  the  insect  to 
run  out  to  be  eaten  entire ;  nor  like  the  stork  imitate  a 
dead  thing,  till  the  frog,  tired  of  waiting  for  him  to 
move,  puts  his  head  above  the  green  pond.  "  To  strange 
mysterious  dulness  still  the  friend,"  he  parades  the  cro- 
quet lawn,  joins  in  grave  converse  with  another  by  the 
roadside,  or  sits  to  exchange  ignorance  with  an  ac- 
quaintance on  a  rail.  At  night  the  mynas  socially 
congregate  together,  and,  with  a  clamor  quite  unbe- 
coming their  character,  make  their  arrangements  for 
the  night,  contending  for  an  absolute  equality  even  in 
sleep. 

Has  it  ever  struck  you  how  fortunate  it  is  for  the 
world  of  birds  that  of  the  twenty-four  hours  some  are 
passed  in  darkness?  And  yet  without  the  protection  of 
night  the  earth  would  be  assuredly  depopulated  of  small 
birds,  and  the  despots,  whom  the  mynas  detest,  would 
be  left  alone  to  contest  in  internecine  conflict  the  dom- 
inion of  the  air. 

As  bus)'  as  the  mynas,  but  less  silent  in  their  work- 
ing, are  those  sad-colored  birds  hopping  about  in  the 
dust  and  incessantly  talking  while  the}'  hop.  They  are 


Visitors  in  Feathers.  37 

called  by  the  natives  the  Seven  Sisters,1  and  seem  to 
have  always  some  little  difference  on  hand  to  settle. 
But  if  the}-  gabble  till  the  coming  of  the  Coquecigmes 
they  will  never  settle  it.  Fighting?  Not  at  all;  do 
not  be  misled  by  the  tone  of  voice.  That  heptachord 
clamor  is  not  the  expression  of  any  strong  feelings. 
It  is  only  a  way  they  have.  They  always  exchange 
their  commonplaces. as  if  their  next  neighbor  was  out  of 
hearing.  If  they  could  but  be  quiet  they  might  pass 
for  the  bankers  among  the  birds,  —  they  look  so  very 
respectable.  But  though  they  dress  so  soberly,  their 
behavior  is  unseemly.  The  Prince  in  Herodotus's  his- 
tory disappointed  the  expectations  of  his  friends  by 
dancing  head  downwards  on  a  table,  "  gesticulating 
with  his  legs."  If  Coleridge's  wise-looking  friend  had 
preserved  his  silence  through  the  whole  meal,  the  poet 
would  have  remembered  him  as  one  of  the  most  intelli- 
gent men  of  his  acquaintance  ;  but  the  apple  dumplings, 
making  him  speak,  burst  the  bubble  of  his  reputation. 
His  speech  bewrayed  him,  like  the  Shibboleth  at  the 
ford  of  Jordan,  "  the  bread  and  cheese"  of  the  Fleming 
persecution,  or  the  Galilean  twang  of  the  impetuous 
saint.  Pythagoreans  ma}',  if  the}'  will,  aver  that  these 
birds  are  the  original  masons  and  hodmen  of  Babel,  but 
I  would  rather  believe  that  in  a  former  state  they  were  old 
Hindu  women,  garrulous2  and  addicted  to  raking  about 
amongst  rubbish  heaps,  as  all  old  native  women  seem 
to  be.  The  Seven  Sisters  pretend  to  feed  on  insects, 
but  that  is  only  when  they  cannot  get  peas.  Look  at 
them  now,  —  the  whole  family,  a  septemvirate  of  sin, 

1  The  Babbler-thrushes,  ,1/a/acocj'rcMS. 

2  "  Ten  measures  of  garrulity,"  says  the  Talmud,  "  came  down 
from  heaven,  and  the  women  took  nine  of  them." 


38  Indian  Sketches. 


among  your  marrowfat  peas,  gobbling  and  gabbling  as 
if  they  believed  in  Dr.  Gumming.  And  it  is  of  no  use 
to  expel  them  —  for  they  will  return,  and 

"  Often  scared, 
As  oft  return  :  a  pert,  voracious  kind." 

When  it  is  night  they  will  go  off  with  a  great  deal  of 
preliminary  talk  to  their  respective  boarding-houses  ;  for 
these  birds,  though  at  times  as  quarrelsome  as  Suma- 
trans  during  the  pepper  harvest,  are  sociable  and  lodge 
together.  The  weak  point  of  this  arrangement  is  that 
often  a  bird  —  perhaps  the  middle  one  of  a  long  row  of 
closely  packed  snoozers  —  has  a  bad  dream,  or  loses 
his  balance,  and  instantly  the  shock  flashes  along 
the  line.  The  whole  dormitory  blazes  up  at  once  with 
indignation,  and  much  bad  language  is  bandied  about 
promiscuously  in  the  dark.  The  abusive  shower  at 
length  slackens,  and  querulous  monosyllables  and  indis- 
tinct animal  noises  take  the  place  of  the  septemfluous 
(Fuller  has  sanctified  the  word)  vituperation,  when 
some  individual,  tardily  exasperated  at  the  unseemly 
din,  lifts  up  his  voice  in  remonstrance,  and  rekindles  the 
smouldering  fire.  Sometimes  he  suddenly  breaks  off, 
suggesting  to  a  listener  the  idea  that  his  next  neigh- 
bor had  silently  kicked  him ;  but  more  often  the  mis- 
chief is  irreparable,  and  the  din  runs  its  course,  again 
dwindles  away,  and  is  again  relit,  perhaps  more  than 
once  before  all  heads  are  safely  again  under  wing. 


Visitors  in  Fur,  and  Others.  39 


III. 
VISITORS   IN  FUR,  AND   OTHERS. 

AS  a  contrast  to  the  fidgetty  birds,  glance  your 
eye  along  the  garden  path  and  take  note  of  that 
pink-nosed  mungoose *  gazing  placidly  out  of  the  water- 
pipe.  It  looks  as  shy  as  Oliver  Twist  before  the  Board  ; 
but  that  is  only  because  it  sees  no  chance  of  being  able 
to  chase  you  about,  catch  you  and  eat  you.  If  you 
were  a  snake  or  a  lizard  you  would  find  it  provokingly 
familiar,  and  as  brisk  as  King  Ferdinand  at  an  auto-da- 
fe,  for  the  scent  of  a  lively  snake  is  to  the  mungoose  as 
pleasant  as  that  of  valerian  to  cats,  attar  to  a  Begum, 
aniseed  to  pigeons,  or  burning  Jews  to  His  Most  Cath- 
olic Majesty  aforementioned ;  and  when  upon  the  war- 
trail  the  mungoose  is  as  different  to  the  every-day 
animal  as  the  Sunda}'  gentleman  in  the  Park,  in  green 
gloves  and  a  blue  necktie,  is  to  the  obsequious  young  man 
who  served  you  across  the  counter  on  Satucday.  Usu- 
ally the  mungoose  is  to  be  seen  slinking  timorously 
along  the  narrow  watercourses,  or,  under  cover  of  the 
turf  edge,  gliding  along  to  some  hunting-ground  among 
the  aloes  ;  whence,  if  it  unearths  a  quarry,  it  will  emerge 
with  its  fur  on  end  and  its  tail  like  a  bottle-brush,  its  eyes 
dancing  in  its  head,  and  all  its  body  agog  with  excite- 
ment, —  reckless  of  the  dead  leaves  crackling  as  it 
scuttles  after  the  flying  reptile,  flinging  itself  upon  the 

1  The  Ichneumon,  Viverrince. 


40  Indian  Sketches. 


victim  with  a  zest  and  single-mindedness  wonderful  to 
see.  That  pipe  is  its  city  of  refuge,  the  asylum  in  all 
times  of  trouble,  to  which  it  betakes  itself  when  annoyed 
by  the  cat  who  lives  in  the  carrot-bed,  or  the  bird-boy 
who  by  his  inhuman  cries  greatly  perplexes  the  robins  in 
the  peas,  or  when  its  nerves  have  been  shaken  by  the 
sudden  approach  of  the  silent-footed  gardener  or  by  a  ren- 
contre with  the  long-tailed  pariah  dog  that  lives  in  the 
outer  dust.  The  mungoose,  although  his  own  brothers 
in  Nepaul  have  the  same  smell  in  a  worse  degree,  is  the 
sworn  foe  of  musk-rats.  "  All  is  not  mungoose  1,hat 
smells  of  musk,"  it  reasons,  as  it  follows  up  the  trail  of 
its  chitt-chittering  victim ;  but  although  it  enjoys  this 
le  sport  it  sometimes  essa}-s  the  less  creditable  battue. 
Jerdon  says,  "  It  is  very  destructive  to  such  birds  as  fre- 
quent the  ground.  Not  unfrequently  it  gets  access  to 
tame  pigeons,  rabbits,  or  poultry,  and  commits  great 
havoc,  sucking  the  blood  only  of  several."  He  adds  that 
he  has  "  often  seen  it  make  a  dash  into  a  verandah  where 
caged  birds  were  placed,  and  endeavor  to  tear  them  from 
their  cages."  The  mungoose  famity.  in  fact,  do  duty 
for  weasels,  and  if  game  were  preserved  in  India  would 
be  vermin.  Even  at  present  some  of  the  blame  so  lav- 
ishly showered  on  the  tainted  musk-rat  might  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  mungoose.  A  little  more  of  that  same 
blame  might  perhaps  be  made  over  to  another  popular 
favorite,  the  grey  squirrel. 

The  palm  squirrel,  as  it  is  more  properly  called,  will 
come  into  a  room  and  eat  the  fruit  on  your  sideboard, 
or  into  a  vinery  and  incontinently  borrow  your  grapes. 
A  rat-trap  in  such  cases  ma}-  do  some  good,  but  a  com- 
plete cure  is  hopeless.  Nothing  but  the  Arminian 
doctrine  of  universal  grace  will  save  the  squirrel  from 


Visitws  in  Fur,  and  Others.  41 

eternal  damnation,  for  its  presumption  is  unique.  The 
plummet  of  reflection  cannot  sound  it,  nor  the  net  of 
memory  bring  up  a  precedent.  It  is  gratuitous,  unpro- 
voked, and  aimless.  It  is  all  for  love.  There  are  no 
stakes  such  as  the  crow  plays  for,  and  in  its  shrill  gamut 
there  is  no  string  of  menace  or  of  challenge.  Its  scran- 
nel quips  are  pointless,  —  so  let  them  pass.  Any  one, 
unless  he  be  a  Scotch  piper,  has  a  right  to  stone  the 
Seven  Sisters  for  their  fulsome  clatter,  but  the  tongue 
of  the  squirrel  is  free  as  air.  There  is  no  embargo  on 
it ;  it  is  out  of  bond,  and  wags  when  and  where  it  lists. 
Let  the  craven  kite  (itself  the  butt  of  smaller  birds) 
swoop  at  it,  but  give  your  sympathy  to  the  squirrel.  A 
woman  who  cannot  kiss  and  a  bird  which  cannot  sing 
ought  to  be  at  any  rate  taught,  but  who  would  look  for 
hannoii}"  from  a  squirrel?  Was  wisdom  ever  found  in 
Gotham  or  truth  in  the  compliments  of  beggars  ?  Would 
you  hook  Leviathan  by  the  nose,  or  hedge  a  cuckoo  in? 
Again,  besides  its  voice,  people  have  been  found  to  ob- 
ject to  its  tail.  But  Hiawatha  liked  it.  There  is  no 
malice  in  the  motion  of  a  squirrel's  tail.  It  does  not 
resemble  the  cocked-up  gesture  of  the  robin's  or  the 
wren's.  It  does  n't  swing  like  the  cat's,  or  dart  like 
the  scorpion's.  It  is  never  offensively  straight  on  end 
like  a  cow's  on  a  windy  day,  nor  slinking  like  a 
pariah  dog's.  It  has  none  of  the  odious  mobility  of  the 
monkej-'s,  nor  the  three-inch  arrogance  of  the  goat's. 
Neither  is  there  in  it  the  pendulous  monotony  of  the 
wagtail's,  nor  the  spasmodic  wriggle  of  the  sucking 
lamb's.  Yet  it  is  a  speaking  feature.  That  fluffy  perk- 
iness  is  an  index  of  the  squirrel  mind.  With  an  up- 
ward jerk  it  puts  a  question,  with  a  downward  one  em- 
phasizes an  assertion ;  gives  plausibility  with  a  wave, 


42  Indian  Sketches. 


and  stings  with  sarcasm  in  a  series  of  disconnected 
lilts;  for  the  squirrel  is  as  inquisitive  as  Empedocles, 
as  tediously  emphatic  as  the  Ephesians,  and  in  self-con- 
fidence a '  Croesus.  It  would  not  have  hesitated  to 
suggest  to  Solomon  solutions  to  the  Queen  of  Sheba's 
conundrums,  nor  to  volunteer  likely  answers  to  the 
riddle  of  the  Sphinx.  It  is  impervious  to  jibes.  Scoffs 
and  derision  are  thrown  awa}-  upon  it  as  much  as  solid 
argument.  Hard  names  do  it  no  hurt.  It  would  not 
be  visibly  affected  if  you  called  it  a  parallelepiped,  or 
the  larva  of  a  marine  ascidian.  Perhaps  it  is  a  philoso- 
pher, for,  since  squirrels  dropped  their  nutshells  on 
Primeval  Man,  no  instance  is  on  record  of  a  melancholy 
squirrel.  Its  emotions  (precipitate  terror  excepted) 
are  shallow,  and  though  it  may  be  tamed,  it  will  form  no 
strong  attachments  ;  while  its  worldly  wisdom  is  great. 
Like  the  frog  in  .ZEsop,  it  is  "  extreme  wise."  Given  a 
•three-inch  post,  the  squirrel  can  always  keep  out  of 
sight.  You  may  go  round  and  round,  but  it  will  always 
be  "on  the  other  side." 

Squirrels  excepted,  the  most  prominent  members  of 
Indian  garden  life  are  ants,  for  they  stamp  their  broad- 
arrow  everywhere  ;  their  advertisements  may  be  read  on 
almost  every  tree-trunk,  and  samples  of  their  work 
seen  on  all  the  paths.  The}-  have  a  head  office  in  most 
verandahs,  with  branch  establishments  in  the  bath- 
rooms ;  while  their  agents  are  ubiquitous,  laying  earth- 
heaps  wherever  they  travel,  —  each  heap  the  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  much  inward  tunnelling,  which, 
towards  the  end  of  the  rainy  season,  will  fall  in.  En- 
gineering seems  to  be  their  favorite  profession,  although 
some  have  a  passion  for  plastering,  and  when  other  sur- 
faces fail  will  la}-  a  coat  of  mud  on  the  level  ground,  for 


Visitors  in  fur,  and  Others.  43 

the  after-pleasure  of  creeping  under  it.  Others  are 
bigots  to  geographical  discovery,  and  are  constantly 
wandering  into  dangerous  places,  whence  they  escape 
only  by  a  series  of  miracles.  Of  some  a  pastoral  life  is 
all  the  joy,  for  they  keep  herds  of  green  aphides—^ 
better  known  as  "  blight"  —  which  they  milk  regularly 
for  the  sake  of  the  sweet  leaf-juice  they  secrete.  Others, 
again,  are  hunters  and  live  on  the  produce  of  the  chase. 
They  organize  foraging  parties  and  issue  forth  a  host  of 
Lilliputians  to  drag  home  a  Brobdignag  cricket;  or, 
marshalled  on  the  war-trail,  file  out  to  plunder  the 
larders  of  their  neighbors.  The  bulk,  however,  are 
omnivorous  and  jacks-of-all-trades,  with  a  decided  lean- 
ing towards  vegetable  food  and  excavation  ;  and  it  is  in 
this,  the  enormous  consumption  of  seeds  in  the  ant 
nurseries,  that  this  famil}'  contributes  its  quota  to  the 
well-being  of  creation,  a  quota  which  after  all  scarcely 
raises  it,  in  point  of  usefulness,  to  the  level  of  butter- 
flies and  moths  —  popularly  supposed  to  be  the  idlest 
and  least  useful  of  created  insects.  It  ought,  however, 
to  be  kept  in  mind  that  butterflies  are  only  beautified 
caterpillars ;  and  when  we  see  them  nVing  about,  we 
should  remember  that  their  work  is  over  and  the}*  are 
enjo}-ing  their  vacation.  They  have  been  raised  to  the 
Upper  House.  From  being  laborious  managers  they  have 
become  the  sleeping  partners  in  a  thriving  business. 
While  they  were  caterpillars  they  worked  hard  and  well ; 
so  Nature,  to  reward  them,  dresses  them  up  to  look  at- 
tractive, and  sends  them  out  as  butterflies  —  to  get 
married.  The  ants,  on  the  other  hand,  did  no  work 
when  they  were  grubs,  so  they  have  to  do  a  good  deal 
in  their  maturity.  They  have  to  provide  food  for  suc- 
cessive broods  of  hungry  youngsters,  who,  when  grown 


44  Indian  Sketches. 


up,  will  join  them  in  feeding  their  younger  brothers  and 
sisters ;  or,  if  they  are  of  the  favored  few,  will  enter 
ant  life  with  wings,  and  be  blown  awa}7  by  the  wind  a 
few  hundred  yards,  to  become  the  founders  of  new 
colonies.  The  actual  balance  of  work  done  by  cater- 
pillars and  ants  respectively  is  indeed  about  equal ;  the 
only  difference  being  that  caterpillars  check  vegetation 
by  feeding  themselves,  and  ants  by  feeding  their  babies  ; 
while  the  balance  of  mischief  done  is  very  much  against 
the  ants.  The  commonest  of  all  the  Indian  ants,  or  at 
any  rate  the  most  conspicuous,  are  the  black  ones,  to 
be  found  marauding  on  every  sideboard,  and  whose 
normal  state  seems  to  be  one  of  criminal  trespass. 
These  from  their  size  are  perhaps  also  the  most  interest- 
ing, as  it  requires  little  exertion  to  distinguish  between 
the  classes  of  individuals  that  in  the  aggregate  make 
up  a  nest  of  ants.  There  is  the  blustering  soldier, 
or  policeman  ant,  who  goes  about  wagging  his  great 
head  and  snapping  his  jaws  at  nothing ;  furious  exceed- 
ingly when  insulted,  but  as  a  rule  preferring  to  patrol  in 
shady  neighborhoods,  the  backwaters  of  life,  where  he 
can  peer  idly  into  cracks  and  holes.  See  him  as  he  saun- 
ters up  the  path,  pretending  to  be  on  the  lookout  for 
suspicious  characters,  stopping  strangers  with  imperti- 
nent inquiries,  leering  at  that  modest  wire-worm  who  is 
hurrying  home.  Watch  him  swaggering  to  meet  a 
friend  whose  beat  ends  at  the  corner,  and  with  whom  he 
will  loiter  for  the  next  hour.  Suddenly  a  blossom  falls 
from  the  orange-tree  overhead.  His  displa}r  of  energy 
is  now  terrific.  He  dashes  about  in  all  directions, 
jostles  the  foot-passengers,  and  then  pretends  that  they 
had  attacked  him.  He  continually  loses  his  own  bal- 
ance, and  has  to  scramble  out  of  worm-holes  and  dusty 


Visitors  in  Fur,  and  Others.  45 

crevices  ;  or  he  comes  in  collision  with  a  blade  of  grass 
which  he  bravely  turns  upon  and  utterly  discomfits,  and 
then  on  a  sudden,  tail  up,  he  whirls  home  to  report  at 
headquarters  the  recent  violent  volcanic  disturbances, 
which,  being  at  his  post,  he  was  fortunately  able  to  sup- 
press !  Another  and  more  numerous  section  of  the 
community  of  ants  are  the  loafers,  who  spend  lives 
of  the  most  laborious  idleness.  Instead  of  joining  the 
long  thread  of  honest  worker  ants,  stretching  from  the 
nest  to  the  next  garden  and  busy  importing  food  to 
the  nurseries,  the}'  hang  about  the  doors  and  eke  out  a 
da}'  spent  in  sham  industry  by  retiring  at  intervals  to 
perform  an  elaborate  toilet.  Between  whiles  the  loafer 
affects  a  violent  energy.  He  makes  a  rush  along  the 
highroad,  jostling  all  the  laden  returners,  stops  most  of 
them  to  ask  commonplace  questions  or  to  wonder  idly 
at  their  burdens  ;  and  then,  as  if  struck  by  a  bright  idea 
or  the  sudden  remembrance  of  something  he  had  for- 
gotten, he  turns  sharp  round  and  rushes  home,  —  tumb- 
ling headlong  into  the  nest  with  an  avalanche  of  rubbish 
behind  him  which  it  will  take  the  whole  colony  a  long 
time  to  bring  out  again.  The  loafer,  meanwhile,  retires 
to  clean  his  legs.  Sometimes  also,  in  order  to  be 
thought  active  and  vigilant,  he  raises  a  false  alarm  of 
danger  and  skirmishes  valiantly  in  the  rear  with  an 
imaginary  foe,  a  husk  of  corn-seed  or  a  thistle-down. 
One  such  loafer  came,  under  my  own  observation,  to  a 
miserable  end.  Thinking  to  be  bus}7  cheaply,  he  entered 
into  combat  with  a  very  small  fly.  But  the  small  fly 
was  the  unsuspected  possessor  of  a  powerful  sting, 
whereupon  the  unhappy  loafer,  with  his  tail  curled  up 
to  his  mouth,  rolled  about  in  agony  until  a  policeman 
catching  sight  of  him,  and  seeing  that  he  was  either 


46  Indian  Sketches. 


drank,  riotous,  or  incapable,  nipped  him  into  two 
pieces  ;  and  a  "  worker,"  happening  to  pass  by,  carried 
him  off  to  the  nest  as  food  for  the  family  !  An  honest 
ant,  on  the  other  hand,  has  no  equal  for  fixedness  of 
purpose,  and  an  obstinate,  unflagging  industry.  The 
day  breaks,  the  front  door  is  opened,  and  the  honest 
ant  ascends  to  daylight.  He  finds  that  a  passer-by  has 
effaced  the  track  along  which  he  ran  so  often  yesterday, 
bjrf  his  memory  is  good,  and  natural  landmarks  abound. 
He  casts  about  like  a  pigeon  when  first  thrown  up  in  the 
air,  and  then  he  is  off.  Straight  up  the  path  to  the 
little  snag  of  stone  that  is  sticking  out  —  up  one  side  of 
it  and  down  the  other  —  over  the  bank  —  through  a  for- 
est of  weeds  —  round  a  lake  of  dew,  and  then,  with  an 
extraordinary  instinct,  for  a  straight  line,  he  goes  whirl- 
ing off  across  the  cucumber-bed  to  some  far  spot,  where 
he  knows  is  lying  a  stem  of  maize  heavily  laden  with 
grain.  Then,  with  a  fraction  of  a  seed  in  his  pincers,  he 
hurries  home,  hands  it  over  to  the  commissariat,  and  is 
off  again  for  another.  And  so,  if  the  grain  holds  out, 
he  will  go  on  until  sunset,  and  when  the  pluffy,  round- 
faced  owls,  sitting  on  the  sentinel  cypress-trees,  are 
screeching  an  ilictt  to  the  lingering  day-birds,  the 
honest  ant  is  tiusy  closing  up  his  doors ;  and  before  the 
mynas  passing  overhead,  and  calling  as  the}-  go  to  be- 
lated wanderers,  have  reached  the  bamboo  clumps  which 
sough  by  the  river,  he  will  be  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
honest.  With  industry,  however,  the  catalogue  of  the 
virtues  of  ants  begins  and  ends.  They  have  an  instinct 
for  hard  work,  and,  useless  or  not,  the}*  do  it  —  in  the 
most  laborious  way  they  can ;  but  except  for  the  wisdom 
which  industry  argues,  ants  have  no  title  whatever  to 
the  epithet  of  "•  wise."  Until  they  learn  that  to  run  up 


Visitors  in  Fur,  and  Others.  47 

one  side  of  a  post  and  down  the  other  is  not  the  quick- 
est way  of  getting  past  the  post,  and  that  in  throwing 
up  mounds  on  garden-paths  they  are  giving  hostages  to 
a  ruthless  gardener,  they  can  scarcely  be  accused  of  even 
common  sense. 

There  has  lately  been  discovered  a  species  of  ant 
which  deserves  to  be  at  once  introduced  to  the  attention 
of  all  children,  servants,  and  ladies  keeping  house.  No 
vestry  should  be  ignorant  of  the  habits  of  so  admirable 
a  creature,  and  sanitary  boards  of  all  kinds  should 
without  loss  of  time  be  put  in  possession  of  the  leading 
facts. 

This  excellent  ant,  it  appears,  abominates  rubbish. 
If  its  house  is  made  in  a  mess  it  gets  disgusted, 
goes  away,  and  never  comes  back.  Dirt  breaks  its 
heart. 

The  insect  in  question  is  a  native  of  Colombia,  and 
hatches  its  eggs  by  artificial  heat,  procuring  for  this 
purpose  quantities  of  foliage,  which,  in  the  course  of 
natural  fermentation,  supply  the  necessary  warmth. 
When  the  young  brood  is  hatched  the  community  care- 
fully carry  away  the  decomposed  rubbish  that  has  served 
its  purpose  as  a  hotbed,  and  stack  it  by  itself  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  nest.  The  damage  which  they  inflict 
upon  gardens  and  plantations  when  collecting  the  leaves 
required  is  so  enormous  that  colonists  have  exhausted 
their  ingenuity  in  devising  means  for  their  expulsion 
or  extermination ;  but  all  in  vain,  for  the  ant,  where- 
ever  it  "squats,"  strikes  very  firm  roots  indeed,  and 
neither  plague,  pestilence,  nor  famine,  neither  fire  nor 
brimstone,  nor  yet  holy  water,  can  compel  it  to  go 
away.  It  takes  no  notice  whatever  of  writs  of  eject- 


48  Indian  Sketches. 


ment,  and  looks  upon  bell,  book,  and  candle  as  mere 
idle  mummeries.  The  nest  ma}'  be  dug  up  with  a 
plough  or  blown  up  with  gunpowder,  soaked  with  hot 
water  or  swamped  out  with  cold,  smothered  with  smoke, 
or  made  abominable  with  chemical  compounds,  strewn 
with  poison  or  scattered  abroad  with  pitchforks,  —  the 
ants  return  all  the  same,  and,  apparently,  with  a  gayety 
enhanced  by  their  recent  ordeals.  The  Inquisition  would 
have  had  no  chance  with  them,  for  all  the  tortures  of  the 
martyrs  have  been  tried  upon  them  in  vain.  Their 
heroic  tenacity  to  their  homesteads  would  have  baffled 
the  malignity  of  a  Bonner  or  the  persecuting  zeal  of  an 
Alva.  But  where  force  may  fail  moral  suasion  often 
meets  with  success,  and  this  has  proved  true  with  the 
ants  in  question.  An  observant  negro,  remarking  that 
the  creatures  were  impervious  to  the  arguments  of  vio- 
lence and  knowing  their  cleanly  habits,  suggested  that 
if  the  ants  could  not  be  hunted  or  blown  or  massacred 
off  the  premises,  they  might  be  disgusted  with  them. 
The  experiment  was  made,  and  with  complete  success. 
The  refuse  foliage  which  the  ants  had  so  carefully 
stacked  away  in  tidy  heaps  was  scattered  over  the 
ground,  and  some  other  basketfuls  of  rubbish  added, 
and  the  whole  community  fled  on  the  instant ! 

They  did  not  even  go  home  to  pack  up  their  carpet- 
bags, but  just  as  the}'  were,  in  the  clothes  the}-  stood  in, 
so  to  speak,  they  fled  from  the  disordered  scene. 

Ant  habits  have  always  furnished  ample  material  for 
the  moralist,  but  this,  the  latest  recorded  trait  of  their 
character,  makes  a  delightful  addition  to  the  already 
interesting  history  of  these  "  tiny  creatures,  strong  by 
social  league,"  the  "parsimonious"  emmet  folk.  It 
destroys,  it  is  true,  something  of  their  traditional  repu- 


Visitors  in  Fur,  and  Others.  49 

tation  for  industry  that  they  should  thus  abandon  them- 
selves to  despair  rather  than  set  to  work  to  clear  away 
the  rubbish  strewn  about  their  dwelling-places.  It  sets 
them  in  this  respect  below  the  bees,  who  never  seem 
to  weary  of  repairing  damages,  and  far  below  the 
white  ant  of  the  East,  which  has  an  absolutely  fero- 
cious passion  for  mending  breaches  and  circumventing 
accidents.  Nothing  beats  them  except  utter  annihila- 
tion. 

The  ants  of  Colombia,  however,  if.  they  fail  in  that  no- 
bility of  diligence  which  seems  to  be  only  whetted  by 
disaster,  rise  infinitely  superior  to  their  congeners  in  the 
moral  virtues  of  respect  for  sanitation  and  punctilious 
cleanliness.  There  is,  however,  even  a  more  admirable 
psychological  fact  behind  than  this,  for  it  appears  that 
the  rubbish  which  scatters  them  most  promptly  is  not 
their  own  but  their  neighbors'.  Their  own  rubbish,  it 
is  true,  sends  them  off  quickly  enough,  but  the  exodus 
is,  if  possible,  accelerated  by  employing  that  from  an 
adjoining  nest.  To  have  their  own  litter  lying  about 
makes  home  intolerable,  but  that  their  neighbors  should 
"  shoot"  theirs  also  upon  them  is  the  ve^  extremity  of 
abomination.  Life  under  such  conditions  is  at  once 
voted  impossible,  and  rather  than  exist  where  the  next- 
door  people  can  empty  their  dust-bins  and  slop-pails 
over  their  walls,  they  go  away  headlong.  A  panic  of 
disgust  seizes  upon  the  whole  colon}-,  and  the  bonds  of 
society  snap  and  shrivel  up  on  the  instant,  like  a  spider's 
web  above  a  candle-flame.  Without  a  thought  of  wife 
or  child,  of  household  gods  or  household  goods,  they 
rush  tumultuously  from  the  polluted  spot.  No  pious 
son  stays  to  give  the  aged  Anchises  a  lift ;  none  loiters 
to  spoil  the  Eg}-ptians  before  he  goes  ;  none  looks  back 


50  Indian  Sketches. 


upon  the  doomed  city.  Forward  and  anywhere  is  the 
motto  of  the  pell-mell  flight;  all  throw  down  their 
burdens  that  they  may  run  the  faster,  and  shamefully 
abandon  their  shields  that  their  arms  may  not  impede 
their  course.  Big  and  little,  male  and  female,  old  and 
young,  all  scamper  off  alike  over  the  untidy  thresholds, 
and  there  is  no  distinction  of  caste  under  the  common 
horror  of  a  home  that  requires  sweeping  up. 

Such  a  spectacle  is  truly  sublime,  for  behind  the 
ants  there  is  no  avenging  Michael-arm,  that  ihcy 
should  thus  precipitately  fall  into  ' '  hideous  rout ; "  no 
Zulu  impi;  no  hyena  horde  of  Bashkirs,  as  there  was 
after  the  flying  Tartars  ;  no  remorseless  pursuit  of  any 
kind.  Indeed,  persecution  and  fiery  trials  the}7  con- 
front unmoved,  so  there  is  no  element  of  fear  in  their 
conduct. 

It  arises  entirely  from  a  generous  impatience  of 
neighbors'  untidy  habits,  from  a  superb  intolerance  of 
dirt.  When  was  such  an  example  ever  set,  or  when  will 
it  ever  be  followed,  by  human  beings  ?  No  single  city, 
not  even  a  village,  is  ever  recorded  to  have  been  aban- 
doned on  account  of  uncleanliness ;  and  yet  what  a 
grand  episode  in  national  history  it  would  be,  if  such 
had  happened,  —  had  the  men  of  Cologne,  for  instance, 
ever  gone  out  into  the  country-side  and  all  encamped 
there,  in  dignified' protest  against  the  "  six-and-seventy 
separate  stinks  "  of  their  undrained  cit}* !  Xo  instance 
even  is  on  record  of  a  single  householder  rushing  from 
his  premises  with  all  his  family  rather  than  endure  cob- 
webs and  dust ;  nor,  indeed,  of  a  single  child  refusing  to 
stay  in  its  nurser}-  because  it  was  untidy.  "NVe  are  still, 
therefore,  far  behind  the  Colombia  ant  in  the  matter  of 
cleanliness. 


Visitors  in  Fur,  and  Others.  51 

In  another  aspect,  perhaps,  this  impetuous  detestation 
of  dirt  is  not  altogether  admirable ;  for,  as  I  have 
noticed,  it  argues  a  declension  in  industry  from  the  true 
ant  standard.  Thus,  the  very  creatures  that  urge  so 
headlong  a  career,  when  the  neatness  of  their  surround- 
ings is  threatened,  are  marvels  of  diligence  in  collecting 
the  very  leaves  which  afterwards  distress  them  so  much. 
This  assiduity  has  long  been  noted,  In  Cornwall  the 
busy  murians,  as  the  people  call  the  ants,  are  still 
supposed  to  be  a  race  of  "  little  people,"  disestab- 
lished from  the  world  of  men  and  women  for  their  idle 
habits,  and  condemned  to  perpetual  labor ;  while  in  Cey- 
lon the  natives  say  that  the  ants  feed  a  serpent,  who 
lives  under  ground,  with  the  leaves  which  they  pick  off 
the  trees,  and  that,  as  the  reptile's  appetite  is  never  sat- 
isfied, the  ants  have  to  work  on  for  ever.  From  West 
to  East,  therefore,  the  same  trait  of  unresting  diligence 
has  been  remarked  ;  and,  in  one  respect,  it  is  no  doubt 
a  deplorable  retrogression  in  the  Colombia  ants  that  the 
mere  sight  of  rubbish  should  thus  dishearten  them.  Yet, 
looked  at  from  a  higher  standpoint,  their  consuming  dis- 
like of  uncleanly  surroundings  is  magnificent,  for  they 
do  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  all  that  is  nearest  and  dear- 
est, to  risk  even  their  public  character,  so  long  as  suffi- 
cient effect  can  be  given  to  their  protest  and  sufficient 
emphasis  laid  upon  their  indignation.  Anything  short 
of  flight,  immediate  and  complete,  without  condition  or 
reservation,  would  fail  to  meet  the  case  or  adequately 
represent  their  feelings.  To  them  the  degradation  of 
submitting  to  a  neighbor's  cinders  and  egg-shells  seems 
too  despicable  to  be  borne ;  and  rather  than  live  in  a 
parish  where  the  vestry  neglects  the  drains  and  the  dust- 
bins, they  abandon  their  hearths  and  homes  for  ever. 


52  Indian  Sketches. 


We  human  beings  cannot  all  of  us  afford  to  show  the 
same  superb  horror  of  defective  sanitation,  but  we  can 
admire  the  ants  who  do,  and  can  hold  them  up  as 
models  to  all  slatterns  and  sluts,  parochial  or  do- 
mestic. 


PART    II. 
THE   INDIAN    SEASONS. 


PART    II. 
THE   INDIAN    SEASONS. 

I. 

IN  HOT  WEATHER. 

"And  the  day  shall  have  a  sun 
That  shall  make  thee  wish  it  done." 

IS  Manfred  speaking  of  the  hot  weather,  of  May-day 
in  India?  The  hot  weather  is  palpably  here,  and 
the  heat  of  the  sun  makes  the  length  of  the  twelve  hours 
intolerable.  The  mango-bird  glances  through  the  groves, 
and  in  the  early  morning  announces  his  beautiful  but 
unwelcome  presence  with  his  merle-melody.  The  koel- 
cuckoo  screams  in  a  crescendo  from  some  deep  covert, 
and  the  crow-pheasant's  note  has  changed  to  a  sound 
which  must  rank  among  nature's  strangest,  —  with  the 
marsh-bittern's  weird  booming,  the  drumming  of  the 
capercailzie,  or  the  bell-tolling  note  of  the  prairie  cam- 
panile. Now,  too,  the  hornets  are  hovering  round  our 
eaves,  and  wasps  reconnoitre  our  verandahs.  "  Of  all 
God's  creatures,"  said  Christopher  North,  "the  wasp 
is  the  only  one  eternally  out  of  temper."  But  he  should 
have  said  this  onl}*  of  the  British  wasp.  The  vespee  of 
India,  though,  from  their  savage  garniture  of  colors  and 
their  ghastly  elegance,  very  formidable  to  look  on,  are 


56  The  Indian  Seasons. 

but  feeble  folk  compared  with  their  banded  congener  of 
England,  the  ruffian  in  glossy  velvet  and  deep  yellow, 
who  assails  one  at  all  hours  of  the  summer's  day,  lurk- 
ing in  fallen  fruit,  making  grocers'  shops  as  dangerous 
as  viper-pits,  an  empty  sugar-keg  a  very  cockatrice  den, 
and  spreading  dismay  at  every  picnic.  But  the  wasp 
points  this  moral,  —  that  it  requires  no  brains  to  annoy. 
A  wasp  stings  as  well  without  its  head  as  with  it. 

Flies,  too,  now  assume  a  prominence  to  which  they 
are  in  no  way  entitled  by  their  merits.  Luther  hated 
flies  quia  sunt  imagines  diaboli  et  hcereticorum  ;  and,  with  a 
fine  enthusiasm  worthy  of  the  great  Reformer,  he  smote 
Beelzebub  in  detail.  "  I  am,"  he  said  one  day,  as  he 
sat  at  his  dinner,  his  Boswell  (Lauterbach)  taking  notes 
under  the  table,  "  I  am  a  great  enemy  unto  flies,  for 
when  I  have  a  good  book  they  flock  upon  it,  parade  up 
and  down  upon  it,  and  soil  it."  So  Luther  used  to  kill 
them  with  all  the  malignity  of  the  early  Christian.  And 
indeed  the  fly  deserves  death.  It  has  no  delicacy,  and 
hints  are  thrown  away  upon  the  importunate  insect. 
With  a  persistent  insolence  it  returns  to  your  nose, 
perching  irreverently  upon  the  feature,  until  sudden 
death  cuts  short  its  ill-mannered  career.  In  this  matter 
my  sympathies  are  rather  with  that  Roman  Emperor 
who  impaled  on  pins  all  the  flies  he  could  catch,  than 
with  Uncle  Toby  who,  when  he  had  in  his  power  a 
ruffianly  bluebottle,  let  it  go  out  of  the  window,  —  to 
fly  into  his  neighbor's  house  and  vex  him.  The  only 
consolation  is  that  the  neighbor  probabby  killed  it. 

The  sun  is  hardly  up  yet,  so  the  doors  are  open. 
From  the  garden  come  the  sounds  of  chattering  hot- 
weather  birds.  "  While  eating,"  said  the  Shepherd,  "  say 
little,  but  look  friendly  ;  "  but  the  starlings  (to  give  them 


In  Hot  Weather.  57 


their  due  and  to  speak  more  point-device,  —  the  "  rose- 
colored  pastors")  do  not  at  all  respect  the  advice  of 
James  Hogg,  for  while  eating  they  say  much,  looking 
the  while  most  unfriendly.  They  have  only  just  arrived 
from  Syria, — indeed,  in  their  far-off  breeding  cliffs,  there 
are  still  young  birds  waiting  for  their  wings  before  leav- 
ing for  the  East,  — and  they  lose  no  time  in  announcing 
their  arrival.  The  unhappy  owner  of  the  mulbeny-grove 
yonder  wages  a  bitter  conflict  with  them,  and  from  their 
numbers  his  pellet-bow  thins  out  many  a  ros}-  thief.  The 
red  semul-tree  is  all  aflame  with  burning  scarlet,  each 
branch  a  chandelier  lit  up  with  clusters  of  fiery  blossom  ; 
and  to  it  in  the  early  heat  come  flockingr"  with  tongues 
all  loudness,"  a  motley  crowd  of  birds  thirsting  for  the 
cool  dew  which  has  been  all  night  collecting  in  the 
floral  goblets  and  been  sweetened  by  the  semul's  honey. 
Among  them  the  pastors  revel,  drinking,  fighting,  and 
chattering  from  earl}-  dawn  to  blazing  noon.  But  as 
the  sun  strengthens  all  nature  begins  to  confess  the  heat, 
and  even  the  crow  caws  sadly.  On  the  water  the  sun 
dances  with  such  a  blinding  sparkle  that  the  panoplied 
crocodile,  apprehensive  of  asphyxia,  will  hardly  show 
his  scales  above  the  river,  and  the  turtles  shut  up  their 
telescope  necks,  shrewdly  suspecting  a  sunstroke.  On 
the  shaded  hillside  the  herded  pigs  lie  dreamily  grunt- 
ing, and  in  the  deep  coverts  the  deer  stretch  themselves 
secure.  The  peasants  in  the  fields  have  loosed  their 
bullocks  for  a  respite  ;  and,  while  the}*  make  theif  way 
to  the  puddles,  their  masters  creep  under  their  grass 
huts  to  eat  their  meal,  smoke  their  pipes,  and  doze. 

But  in  the  cities  the  heat  of  noon  is  worse.  There  is 
wanting  even  the  relief  of  herbage  and  running  water. 
The  white  sunlight  lies  upon  the  roads,  so  palpable  a 


58  The  Indian  Seasons. 

heat  that  it  might  be  peeled  off ;  the  bare,  blinding  walls, 
surcharged  with  heat,  refuse  to  soak  in  more,  and  reject 
upon  the  air  the  fervor  beating  down  upon  them.  In 
the  dusty  hollows  of  the  roadside  the  pariah  dogs  lie 
sweltering  in  dry  heat ;  beneath  the  trees  sit  the  crows, 
their  beaks  agape ;  the  buffaloes  are  wallowing  in  the 
shrunken  mud-holes,  — but  not  a  human  being  is  abroad 
of  his  own  will.  At  times  a  messenger,  with  his  head 
swathed  in  cloths,  trudges  along  through  the  white  dust ; 
or  a  camel,  his  cloven  feet  treading  the  hot,  soft  surface 
of  the  road  as  if  it  were  again  pressing  the  sand-plains 
of  the  Khanates,  goes  lounging  by  ;  but  the  world  holds 
the  mid-day  to  be  intolerable,  and  has  renounced  it,  seek- 
ing such  respite  as  it  may  from  the  terrible  breath  of 
that  hot  wind  which  is  shrivelling  up  the  face  of  nature, 
making  each  tree  as  dry  as  the  Oak  of  Mature,  suffo- 
cating out  of  it  all  that  has  life. 

But  the  punkah-coolie  is  left  outside.  His  lines  have 
been  cast  to  him  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  tattle.  The 
hot  wind,  whose  curses  the  sweet  kiss  of  the  kits-kits 
turns  to  blessings,  whose  oven-breath  passes  into  our 
houses  with  a  borrowed  fragrance,  finds  the  punkah- 
coolie  standing  undefended  in  the  verandah,  and  blows 
upon  him ;  the  sun  sees  him  and,  as  long  as  he  can, 
stares  at  him  ;  until  the  punkah-coolie,  in  the  stifling 
heat  of  May-day,  almost  longs  for  the  flooded  miseries 
of  Michaelmas.  But  he  has  his  revenge.  In  his  hands 
he  holds  a  rope  —  a  punkah-rope  —  and  beneath  the 
punkah  sits  his  master,  writing.  On  either  side  and  all 
round  him,  piled  carefully,  are  arranged  papers,  — light, 
flimsy  sheets,  —  and  on  each  pile  lies  a  paper-weight. 
And  the  punkah  swings  backward  and  forward  with  a 
measured  flight,  the  papers'  edges  responsive,  with  a 


In  Hot  Weather.  59 


rustle,  to  each  wave  of  air.  And  the  writer,  wary  at 
first,  grows  careless.  The  monotony  of  the  air  has  put 
him  off  his  guard,  and  here  and  there  a  paper-weight 
has  been  removed.  Now  is  the  coolie's  time.  Sweet  is 
revenge !  and  suddenly  with  a  jerk  the  punkah  wakes 
up,  sweeping  in  a  wider  arc,  and  with  a  rustle  of  many 
wings  the  piled  papers  slide  whispering  to  the  floor. 
But  why  loiter  to  enumerate  the  coolie's  small  revenges, 
the  mean  tricks  by  which,  when  you  rise,  he  flips  you 
in  the  eye  with  the  punkah  fringe,  disordering  your  hair 
and  sweeping  it  this  way  and  that, —  the  petty  retaliation 
of  finding  out  a  hole  in  the  tattie,  and  flinging  water 
through  it  on  to  your  matting,  angering  the  dog  that  was 
lying  in  the  cool,  damp  shade  ?  These  and  such  are  the 
coolie's  revenges,  when  the  hot  weather  by  which  he 
lives  embitters  him  against  his  kind.  But  at  night  he 
develops  into  a  fiend,  for  whom  a  deep  and  bitter 
loathing  possesses  itself  of  the  hearts  of  men.  It  is 
upon  him  that  the  strong  man,  furious  at  the  sudden 
cessation  of  the  breeze,  makes  armed  sallies.  It  is  on 
him  that  the  mosquito-bitten  subaltern,  wakeful  through 
the  oil-lit  watches  of  the  night,  empties  the  vial  of  his 
wrath  and  the  contents  of  his  wash-hand  basin :  who 
shares  with  the  griffs  dogs  the  uncompromising  at- 
tentions of  boot-jacks  and  riding-whips.  For  him  in- 
genious j'outh  devises  rare  traps,  cunning  pyramids  of 
beer-boxes  with  a  rope  attached  —  curious  penalties  to 
make  him  suffer,  — for  the  coolie,  after  the  sun  has  set, 
becomes  a  demoralized  machine  that  requires  winding 
up  once  even*  twenty  minutes,  and  is  not  to  be  kept 
going  without  torture.  And  thus  for  eight  shillings  a 
month  he  embitters  your  life,  making  the  punkah  an 
engine  wherewith  to  oppress  you. 


60  The  Indian  Seasons. 

It  is  Cardan,  I  think,  who  advises  men  to  partake 
sometimes  of  unwholesome  food  if  they  have  an  extra- 
ordinary liking  for  it ;  it  is  not  always  well,  he  would 
tell  us,  to  be  of  an  even  virtue.  What  a  poor  thing,  for 
instance,  were  an  oj'ster  in  constant  health ;  ladies' 
caskets  would  then  want  their  pearls.  Who  does  not  at 
times  resent  the  appearance  of  a  friend  who  is  comfort- 
ably fat,  come  weal  or  woe?  The  uniform  hilarity  of 
Mark  Tapley  recommends  itself  to  few.  But  to  the 
punkah-coolie,  how  inexplicable  our  theorizing  on  the 
evil  of  monotonous  good  !  To  him  anything  good  is  so 
rare  that  he  at  once  assimilates  it,  when  he  meets  with 
it,  to  his  ordinary  evil.  He  cannot  trust  himself  to  be- 
lieve the  metal  in  his  hand  is  gold.  Given  enough,  he 
commits  a  surfeit,  and  tempted  with  a  little  he  lusts 
after  too  much.  Indulgence  with  the  coolie  means 
license,  and  a  conditional  promise  a  carte  blanche.  And 
thus  he  provokes  ill-nature.  Usually  it  depends  upon 
the  master  whether  service  be  humiliation ;  but  the 
punkah-coolie  is  such  "a  thing  of  dark  imaginings" 
that  he  too  often  defies  s}-mpathy. 

I  have  three  coolies,  and  I  call  them  Shadrach, 
Meshach,  and  Abednego,  for  they  have  stood  the  test 
of  fire.  And  Shadrach  is  an  idiot.  Upon  him  the  wily 
Meshach  foists  his  work ;  and  at  times  even  the  crass 
Abednego  can  shuffle  his  periods  of  toil  upon  the  broad 
shoulders  of  Shadrach.  He  is  slate-colored  when  dry  ; 
in  the  rains  he  resembles  a  bheesty's 1  water-skin.  In  his 
youth  he  was  neglected,  and  in  his  manhood  his  paunch 
hath  attained  an  unseeml}'  rotundity.  Not  that  I  would 
have  it  supposed  he  is  portly.  His  dimensions  have 
been  induced  by  disease.  His  thin  face  knows  it,  and 

1  The  water-carrier. 


In  Hot  WeatTier.  61 


wears  an  expression  of  deprecating  humility,  to  which 
his  conscious  legs  respond  in  tremulous  emotions.  His 
life  is  a  book  without  pictures.  His  existence  is  set  to 
very  sad  music.  The  slightest  noise  within  the  house  is 
sufficient  to  set  Shadrach  pulling  like  a  bell-ringer  on 
New  Year's  Eve  ;  but  a  very  few  minutes  suffice  to 
plunge  him  into  obese  oblivion,  and  then  the  punkah 
waggles  feebly  until  a  shout  again  electrifies  it  into 
ferocit}'.  It  is  always  when  Shadrach  is  pulling  that 
the  punkah-rope  breaks  ;  when  more  water  than  usual 
splashes  through  the  tattie  I  make  sure  that  the  ladle  is 
in  Shadrach's  hands.  Meshach  is  of  another  sort  He 
is  the  oldest  of  the  three  and  when  he  condescends  to 
the  rope,  pulls  the  punkah  well.  But,  as  a  rule,  he 
allows  Shadrach  to  do  his  work ;  for  as  often  as  I  look 
out  Meshach  is  tying  curled  up  under  a  pink  cloth 
asleep,  and  Shadrach  is  pulling.  He  has  established  a 
mastery  over  his  fellows,  and  b}-  virtue,  so  I  believe,  of 
that  pink  cloth  which  voluminously  girds  his  wizened 
frame,  exacts  a  respect  to  which  his  claim  is  forged. 
The}-  are  the  Children  of  the  Lotus,  and  he  their  wise 
Hermogene.  In  a  grievance  Meshach  is  spokesman, 
but  in  the  case  of  a  disagreement  arising,  the  master's 
wrath  falls  always,  somehow,  on  one  of  the  others. 
When  paj'-day  comes,  Meshach  sits  familiarly  in  the 
verandah  with  the  regular  retainers  of  the  household  ; 
while  Shadrach  and  Abednego  await  their  wages  at  a 
distance,  standing  foolishly  in  the  sun.  Abednego 
is  a  man  of  great  physical  power,  and  of  something 
less  than  average  intelligence.  He  is  noisy  at  times, 
and  may  be  heard  quarrelling  with  the  bheesty  who 
comes  to  fill  the  tattie-pots,  or  grumbling  when  no  one 
appears  to  relieve  him  at  the  right  moment.  But  alto- 


62  The  Indian  Seasons. 

gether  he  is  a  harmless  animal,  turning  his  hand  cheer- 
fully to  other  work  than  his  own,  and  even  rising  to  a 
joke  with  the  gardener.  But  Meshach  holds  him  in 
subjection. 

But  the  hot  day  is  passing.  The  sun  is  going  down 
the  hill,  but  yet  not  so  fast  as  to  explain  the  sudden 
gloom  which  relieves  the  sky.  In  the  west  has  risen  a 
brown  cloud,  and  the  far  trees  tell  of  a  rising  wind.  It 
uears  swiftly,  driving  before  it  a  flock  of  birds.  The 
wind  must  be  high,  for  the  kite  cannot  keep  its  balance, 
and  attempts  in  vain  to  beat  up  against  it.  The  crow 
yields  to  it  without  a  struggle,  and  goes  drifting  east- 
"  ward ;  the  small  birds  shoot  right  and  left  for  shelter. 
It  is  a  dust-storm.  The  brown  cloud  has  now  risen  well 
above  the  trees,  and  alreacty  the  garden  is  aware  of  its 
approach.  You  can  hear  the  storm  gathering  up  its 
rustling  skirts  for  a  rush  through  the  tree-tops.  And  on 
a  sudden  it  sweeps  up  with  a  roar,  embanked  in  fine 
clouds  of  dust,  and  strikes  the  house.  At  once  every 
door  bursts  open  or  shuts  to,  the  servants  shout,  the 
horses  in  the  stables  neigh,  and  while  the  brief  hurri- 
cane is  passing  a  pall  lies  upon  the  place.  Out  of 
windows  the  sight  is  limited  to  a  few  yards,  beyond 
which  may  be  only  mistily  made  out  the  forms  of  strong 
trees  bowing  before  the  fierce  blast,  with  their  boughs 
all  streaming  in  one  direction.  The  darkness  is  like 
that  mysterious  murk  which  rested  on  the  fabled  laud 
of  Hannyson —  "  alle  covered  with  darkness  withouten 
any  brightnesse  or  light :  so  that  no  man  may  see  ne 
heren  ne  no  man  dar  entren  in  to  hem.  And  natheless 
thei  of  the  Contree  sej-  that  some  tyme  men  heren  voys 
of  Folk  and  Hors  nyzenge  and  Cokkes  crowynge.  And 
men  witen  well  that  men  dwellen  there,  but  knowe  not 


In  Hot  Weather.  63 


what  men."  Hark  !  there  are  voices  of  folk ;  from  the 
stables  comes  the  "  nyzenge  of  hors,"  from  the  direction 
of  the  fowl-house  a  "  voys  of  cokkes  crowynge,"  and 
the  murk  of  Hann}"son  is  over  all.  As  suddenly  as  it 
came  the  storm  has  gone.  The  verandahs  are  full  of 
dead  leaves,  the  tattie-door  has  fallen,  and  a  few  tiles 
are  tying  on  the  ground ;  but  the  dust-storm  has 
passed  on  far  ahead  and  is  already  on  the  river.  Out 
upon  the  Ganges  the  sudden  rippling  of  the  water,  the 
brown  haze  beyond  the  bank,  have  warned  the  native 
steersman  to  make  for  the  land.  Over  his  head  sweep 
and  circle  the  anxious  river-fowl,  the  keen-winged  terns 
and  piping  sand-birds,  the  egret  and  the  ibis  ;  and  as  his 
skiff  nears  the  shore  he  sees  a  sudden  hurrying  on  all 
the  large  vessel-decks,  hears  the  cries  of  the  boatmen 
as  the}-  hasten  to  haul  down  the  clumsy  sails,  and  in 
another  minute  his  own  boat  is  rocking  about  and 
bumping  among  the  others.  The  dust-storm  travels 
quickly.  Between  the  banks  is  sweeping  up  the  sand- 
laden  wind,  concealing  from  the  huddled  boats  the 
temples  and  the  ghat  across  the  river,  the  bridge  that 
spans  it,  and  the  sky  itself.  But  only  for  a  minute,  for 
almost  before  the  river  has  had  time  to  ruffle  into  waves 
the  storm  has  passed,  and  the  Ganges  is  flowing  as 
quietly  as  ever. 

For  a  while  the  air  is  cooler,  but  the  sun  has  not  been 
blown  out,  and  Parthian-like  he  shoots  his  keenest 
arrows  in  retreat.  And  as  the  shadows  lengthen  along 
the  ground  the  heat  changes  from  that  of  a  bonfire  to 
that  of  an  oven.  When  the  sun  is  in  mid-heaven  we 
recognize  the  justice  of  the  heat,  abhor  it  as  we  may. 
The  sun  is  hot.  But  when  he  has  gone,  we  resent  the 
accursed  legacy  of  stifling  heat  he  leaves  us.  His  post- 


64  Tlw  Indian  Seasons. 

humous  calor  is  intolerable.  It  chokes  the  breath  by 
its  dead  intensity,  like  the  fell  atmosphere  that  hung 
round  the  dragon-daughter  of  Ypocras  in  her  bedevilled 
castle  in  the  Isle  of  Colos. 

A  wind  makes  pretense  of  blowing,  but  while  it  bor- 
rows heat  from  the  ground,  it  does  not  lend  it  coolness. 
The  city,  however,  is  abroad  again.  Children  go  by 
with  their  nurses  ;  the  shops  are  doing  business.  In  the 
bazaars  the  every-day  crowd  is  noisy,  along  the  roads 
the  red-aproned  bheesties  sprinkle  their  feeble  handfuls, 
and  the  world  is  out  to  enjoy  such  pleasures  as  it  may 
on  Ma}-da3*  "in  the  plains."  In  the  countiy  the 
peasant  is  brisk  again,  and  trudges  away  from  his  work 
cheerily ;  bands  of  women  affect  to  make  merry  with 
discordant  singing  as  they  pass  along  the  fields ;  the 
miry  cattle  are  being  herded  in  the  villages.  And  in 
the  garden  the  birds  assemble  to  say  good-night.  They 
are  all  in  the  idlest  of  humors,  and,  their  day's  work 
over,  are  sauntering  about  in  the  air  and  from  tree  to 
tree,  or  congregating  in  vagrom  do-nothing  crowds  — 
the  elders-  idle,  the  younger  mischievous.  In  bird- 
dom  the  crows  take  the  place  of  gamins,  and  spend  the 
mauvais  quart  (Theure  in  vexing  their  betters.  An  old 
kite,  tired  with  his  long  flights  and  sulky  under  the 
grievance  of  a  shabbilj'-filled  stomach,  crouches  on  the 
roof,  his  feathers  ruffled  about  him.  He  is  not  looking 
for  food ;  it  is  getting  too  late,  and  he  knows  that  in 
half  an  hour  his  place  will  be  taken  by  the  owls,  and 
that  before  long  the  jackals  will  be  trj'iug  to  worry  a 
supper  off  the  bones  which  he  scraped  for  his  break- 
fast. But  the  crow  is  in  no  humor  for  sentiment.  He 
has  stolen  during  the  day,  and  eaten,  enough  to  make 
memory  a  joy  forever.  On  his  full  stomach  he  grows 


In  Hot  Weather.  65 


pert,  and  in  his  vulgar  street-boy  fashion,  affronts  the 
ill-fed  bird  of  prey.  With  a  wily  step  he  approaches 
him  from  behind  and  pulls  at  his  longest  tail-feather, 
or,  sidling  alongside,  pecks  at  an  outstretched  wing. 
Even  when  inactive,  his  simple  presence  worries  the 
kite,  for  he  cannot  tell  what  his  tormentor  is  devising. 
But  he  has  not  long  to  wait,  for  the  crow,  which  from  a 
foot  off  has  been  derisively  studying  the  kite  in  silence, 
suddenly  opens  his  mouth,  and  utters  a  cry  of  warning. 
The  chattering  garden  is  hushed,  small  birds  escape  to 
shelter,  the  larger  fly  up  into  the  air,  or  on  to  the  high- 
est coigns  of  vantage,  and  look  round  for  the  enemy. 
The  crow,  encouraged  by  success,  again  warns  the 
world,  and  his  brethren  come  flocking  round,  anxious  to 
pester  something,  but  not  quite  certain  as  to  the  danger 
that  threatens.  But  the  crow  is  equal  to  the  occasion, 
and  by  wheeling  in  a  circle  round  the  inoffensive  kite, 
and  making  a  sudden  swoop  towards  it,  points  out  to 
them  the  object  of  his  feigned  terror.  At  once  his  cue 
is  taken,  and  with  a  discord  of  cries,  to  which  Pisani's 
angiy  barbiton  in  the  story  of  Zanoni  was  music,  they 
surround  the  sulking  bird.  It  seems  as  if  at  every 
swoop  they  would  strike  the  crouching  kite  from  his 
perch,  but  the}'  know  too  well  to  tempt  the  curved  beak, 
the  curved  talons,  and  though  approaching  near  they 
never  touch  him.  The  kite  has  only  to  make  the  motion 
of  flight,  and  his  tormentors  widen  their  circles.  But 
he  cannot  submit  to  the  indignity  long,  and  slowl}-  un- 
folding his  wide  wings,  the  carrion-bird  launches  himself 
upon  the  air.  Meanwhile  the  sparrows  are  clubbing 
under  the  roof,  and  their  discussions  are  noisy.  The 
mynas  pace  the  lawn,  exchanging  commonplaces  with 
their  fellows  by  their  side,  or  those  who  pass  homeward 

5 


66  The  Indian  Seasons. 

overhead.  The  little  birds  are  slipping  into  the  bushes, 
where  they  will  pass  the  hours  of  sleep  ;  while  from 
everywhere  come  the  voices  of  Nature  making  arrange- 
ments for  the  night. 

One  little  bird  closes  the  day  with  a  song  of  thanks. 
He  is  a  sweet  little  songster  —  do  you  know  him  ?  —  a 
dapper  bird,  dressed,  as  a  gentleman  should  be  in  the 
evening,  in  black  and  white,  with  a  shapely  figure,  a 
neatly  turned  tail,  and  all  the  gestures  of  a  bird  of  the 
world.  Choosing  a  low  bough,  one  well  leafed,  he 
screens  himself  from  the  world,  and  for  an  hour  pours 
out  upon  the  hot  evening 'air  a  low,  sweet,  throbbing 
song.  He  appears  to  sing  unconsciousl}' :  his  notes  run 
over  of  their  own  accord,  without  any  effort.  The  bird 
rather  thinks  aloud  in  song  than  sings.  I  have  seen 
him  warbling  in  the  wildest,  poorest  corner,  the  knuckle- 
end  of  the  garden.  At  first  I  thought  he  was  all  alone. 
But  soon  I  saw  sitting  above  him,  with  every  gesture 
of  interested  attention,  two  crested  bulbuls,  the  night- 
ingales of  Hafiz.  They  were  listening  to  the  little 
solitary  minstrel,  recognizing  in  the  pied  songster  a 
master  of  their  song.  And  so  he  went  on  singing  to  his 
pretty  audience  until  the  moon  began  to  rise.  And 
with  a  sudden  rush  from  behind  the  citrons'  shade  the 
night-jar  tumbled  out  upon  the  evening  air. 


The  Rains.  67 


II. 

THE  RAINS. 

"  And  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day." 

Twelfth  Night. 

FOR  many  weeks  there  had  been  nothing  doing, 
—  a  piping  time  of  heat,  when  the  sun  and  the 
moon  divided  the  twentj'-four  hours  between  them.  But 
all  that  has  been  changed,  and  on  Monday  came  the 
rain.  At  first  only  wind.  But  I  had  heard  the  jack- 
tree  whispering  of  what  was  coming,  and  among  the 
plantains  I  saw  that  there  was  a  secret  hatching  —  and 
then  on  a  sudden  came  the  strong  gust,  rain-heralding. 
The  wind  came  sweeping  up,  clearing  the  way  for  the 
rain  that  was  close  behind,  and  then  the  rain,  on  the 
earth  that  was  gasping  for  it,  descended  in  great,  round, 
solemn  drops. 

And  how  suddenly  did  all  nature  become  aware  of  the 
change !  The  grateful  earth  sent  up  in  quick  response 
its  thanks  in  a  scent  as  fragrant  to  us  in  India  as  is  the 
glorious  bouquet -of  the  ha3'-fields  at  home.  The  joyous 
birds  flitted  here  and  there,  limning  the  bursting  of  the 
monsoon,  and  all  the  dust}7  trees  broke  out  into  laugh- 
ing green.  The  swallow  came  down  from  the  clouds  to 
hawk  among  the  shrubs,  for  a  strange  insect  world  was 
abroad,  the  sudden  rain  having  startled  into  uncustom- 
ary daylight  the  night-loving  moth  and  the  feeble  swarm 
that  peoples  the  crepuscule.  The  young  parrots,  insolent 


68  The  Indian  Seasons. 

though  tailless,  revelled  among  the  ncem-trees'  harsh 
berries,  while  from  the  softened  earth,  in  spite  of  the 
falling  rain,  the  mynas  were  bus}*  pulling  out  the  care- 
lessly jocund  worms.  Even  the  wretched  babblers,  who 
had  hoped  to  raise  a  second  brood  of  young,  and  whose 
nest  has  in  an  hour  become  a  dripping  pulp,  hopped, 
and  not  unmirthfullj*,  about.  The  peacocks  came"  out 
and  danced.  Even  the  crow  was  festive.  But  the  rain 
that  washed  the  aloes  clean  has  also  soaked  out  from 
their  lair  among  them  the  ringed  snakes,  so  the  mun- 
goose  is  holding  high  carnival.  But  hark  !  Already  a 
frog?  —  yes,  a  shrivelled  batrachian  who,  for  many 
sun-plagued  weeks  had  been  tying  b}-  in  a  dusty  water- 
pipe,  feels  suddenly  the  rush  of  warm  rain-water,  and 
his  dusty,  shrunken  shell  is  carried  out  into  the  aqueduct. 
With  reviving  strength  he  stems  the  tide,  and  is  soon 
safely  on  the  bank.  Can  it  be  true  ?  and  he  plunges 
into  the  living  water  again,  his  shrivelled  body  —  like 
that  curious  Rose  of  Jericho  —  plumping  out  as  it 
greedily  absorbs  the  grateful  liquid  ;  and  soon  the  lean 
and  wretched  frog,  whom  a  week  ago  a  hungry  crow 
would  have  scorned  to  eat  (though  a  stomach-denying 
crow  is  as  rare  as  a  Parsee  beggar),  becomes  the  same 
bloated  monster  in  yellow  and  green  that  last  year 
harassed  us  with  his  importunate  demonstrations  of 
pleasure.  "  And  for  als  moche  as  "  he  has  thus  cheaply 
attained  to  respectability,  he  is  inflated  with  pride. 
Mandeville  thanked  God  with  humility  for  the  keeping 
of  the  good  company  of  man}*  lords,  but  the  frog  un- 
asked thrusts  himself  and  his  amours  upon  our  notice, 
holding  with  the  Saracens  that  man  is  only  the  younger 
brother  of  swine.  "We  welcome  the  rain,  but  could  do 
well  without  the  frogs. 


The  Rains.  69 

"The  croaking  of  frogs,"  said  Martin  Luther  at  his 
table,  "edifies  nothing  at  all;  it  is  mere  sophistry  and 
fruitless ; "  and  indeed  I  wish  we  were  without  these 
vile  batrachians.  It  is  not  to  me  at  all  incredible  that 
the  Abderites  should  have  gone  into  voluntar}'  exile 
rather  than  share  their  country  unequally  with  frogs. 

In  all  ;  •  the  majesty  of  mud "  they  crouch  on  the 
weedy  bank,  croaking  proudly  to  their  dames  below, 
who,  their  speckled  bodies  concealed,  rest  their  chins 
upon  the  puddle-top,  croaking  in  soft  reply.  Was  ever 
lady  wooed  with  such  damp,  disheartening  circumstance, 
—  the  night  dark,  the  sky  filled  with  drifting  clouds,  a 
thin  rain  falling?  Round  the  puddle's  sloppy  edge  —  the 
puddle  itself  a  two  hours'  creation  —  has  sprouted  up  a 
rank  fringe  of  squashy  green-stuff,  and  in  this  the  moist 
lover  serenades  the  fair.  She  would  listen  flabbily  to 
his  beguilements  all  night  long,  but  suddenly  round  the 
corner  comes  a  dog-cart.  His  position  might  be  heroic, 
certainly  it  is  ridiculous.  Shall  he  die  at  his  post,  be 
crushed  by  a  whirling  wheel  for  her  he  loves,  or  shall 
he  —  get  out  of  the  way  ?  The  earth  shakes  below  the 
cavalier ;  this  is  no  time  to  hesitate ;  shall  he  move  ? 
Yes  ;  and  plop  !  within  an  inch  of  his  charmer's  nose  he 
has  landed  in  the  puddle.  But  such  accidents  are  infre- 
quent ;  the  cavalier,  we  regret  to  know,  generally  sere- 
nades all  night.  By  day  he  sleeps  beneath  a  stone, 
fitting  himself  into  a  dry  hole,  — for  frogs  dare  not  go 
out  in  the  daytime.  Crows  trifle  with  them,  spit  them 
on  their  black  beaks,  and  perhaps  eat  them.  Cats,  too, 
will  amnse  themselves  with  frogs  ;  even  the  more  chiv- 
alrous dog  will  not  disdain  to  bite  a  frog  when  he  comes 
suddenly  upon  one  round  a  corner.  In  the  evening, 
however,  he  takes  his  hops  abroad,  makes  his  meal  of 


70  The  Indian  Seasons. 

aiits,  and  starts  off  to  the  nearest  place  of  pleasure. 
Shall  it  be  the  municipal  tank,  —  the  public  assembly- 
rooms, —  where  the  company,  though  numerous,  is  very 
mixed  ;  or  some  private  soiree  musicale,  where  the  com- 
pany is  select,  and  the  risks  of  interruption  fewer?  His 
journey  is  not  without  its  peculiar  perils.  What  if,  by 
mistake,  he  jumps  down  the  well?  the  one  in  which  live 
only  those  two  old  gentlemen,  wretched  bachelors,  who, 
sallying  forth  one  night  —  just  such  a  night  as  this  —  to 
serenade  a  fair  one,  mistook  their  way.  saw  water  glis- 
tening, thought  the}*  heard  her  voice,  and  plumped  down 
twenty  feet.  The}'  never  got  out  again,  and  there  they 
are  to  this  day,  old  and  childless  ;  their  croak  is  sullen 
and  defiant,  for  they  are  down  a  deep  wellT  and  can't 
get  out.  "  It  is  enough  to  sour  one's  temper,"  acknowl- 
edges our  frog ;  and  he  goes  forth  delicately,  looking 
before  he  leaps.  "  Living  in  such  a  world,  I  seem  to 
be  a  frog  abiding  in  a  dried-up  well."  The  Upauishad 
contains  no  happier  illustration  than  this. 

How  the  rain  pours  down  !  A  wall,  beneath  which 
he  has  rested  to  croak  awhile,  cracks,  gapes,  and  falls. 
B}'  a  miracle  and  a  very  long  jump  he  escapes  ;  but  his 
jump  has  landed  him  in  the  lively  rivulet  which  is  now 
swirling  down  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  so,  before  he 
can  draw  his  legs  up  or  collect  his  thoughts,  he  is  rolled 
along  with  sticks  and  gravel  into  a  ditch,  sucked  into  a 
water-pipe,  squirted  out  at  the  other  end,  received  by  a 
rushing  drain,  and,  ere  he  can  extricate  himself,  is  being 
whirled  along  towards  the  river,  where  live  the  barbarous 
paddy-bird  and  the  ruthless  adjutant-crane.  Better,  he 
thinks,  that  the  wall  had  fallen  on  him.  But  if  he  does 
get  safe  to  his  friends,  with  what  gusto  is  he  hailed  ! 
At  his  first  note  the  compan}'  becomes  aware  of  a  strange 


The  Rains.  71 


presence,  and  in  silence  they  receive  his  second ;  and 
then  they  recognize  his  voice,  and  with  redoubled  vol- 
ume the  chorus  recommences  —  for  the  night. 

One  of  the  twenty-one  hells  of  Manu  is  filled  with 
mud.  I  believe  it  to  be  for  the  accommodation  of 
frogs. 

The  insect  world,  which  during  the  hot  weather  was 
held  in  such  small  account,  now  holds  itself  supreme. 
Convinced  themselves  that  entomology  is  the  finest 
study  in  the  world,  the  insects  carry  their  doctrine  at 
their  tails'  point  to  convince  others.  Every  one  must 
learn  and  be  quite  clear  about  the  difference  between  a 
black  mosquito  with  grey  spots,  and  a  grey  mosquito 
with  black  spots.  There  must  be  no  confusion  between 
a  fly  which  stings  3*011  if  you  touch  it,  and  a  fly  which  if 
it  touches  you  stings.  No  one  can  pretend  to  ignore 
the  insect  invaders — the  bullety  beetles  and  maggoty 
ants.  Nobody  can  profess  to  do  so.  It  is  impossible 
to  appear  unconscious  of  long-legged  terrors  that 
silently  drop  on  your  head,  or  shin}-,  nodular  ones  that 
rush  at  your  face  and  neck  with  a  buzz  in  the 
steam}7  evenings  in  the  rains.  A  tarantula  on  the  tow- 
el-horse, especially  if  it  is  standing  on  tiptoe,  is  too  pal- 
pable, and  no  one  can  pretend  not  to  see  it  there. 
Spiders  weighing  an  ounce,  however  harmless,  are  too 
big  and  too  puffy  to  be  treated  with  complete  indifference. 
Then  there  is  a  pestilent  animal  resembling  a  black- 
beetle,  with  its  head  a  good  deal  pulled  off,  having  fish- 
hooks at  the  ends  of  its  legs,  with  which  it  grips  you, 
arid  will  not  let  go.  Centipedes,  enjoying  a  luxury  of 
legs,  (how  strange  that  the}'  are  not  proud !)  think 
nothing,  a  mere  trifle  at  most,  of  leaving  all  their  toes 
sticking  behind  them  when  they  rim  up  your  legs.  It  is 


72  The  Indian  Seasons. 

an  undecided  point  whether  the  toes  do  not  grow  new 
centipedes  ;  at  an}'  rate  the  centipede  grows  new  toes. 
Ridiculous  round  beetles  tumble  on  their  backs  and 
scramble  and  slide  about  the  dinner-table  till  they  get 
a  purchase  on  the  cruet-stand,  up  which  they  climb  in  a 
deliberate  and  solemn  manner,  and  having  reached  the 
top,  go  forthwith  headlong  into  the  mustard.  Sometimes 
they  get  out  again  unperceived,  but  an  irregular  track 
of  mustard  on  the  cloth,  with  a  drop  wherever  the 
beetle  stopped  to  take  breath,  leads  to  the  discovery  of 
the  wanderer  sitting  among  the  salad  and  pretending 
to  be  a  caper.  Then  again  there  are  oval  beetles, 
which  never  tumble  on  their  backs,  but  dart  about  so 
quickly  that  you  are  uncertain  whether  something  did 
or  did  not  go  into  the  soup,  until  you  find  them  at  the 
bottom.  Many  other  insects  come  to  the  festive  board, 
unbidden  guests ;  grasshoppers,  with  great  muscular 
powers,  but  a  deplorable  lack  of  direction  ;  minute  mon- 
ey-spiders that  drop  from  your  eyebrows  by  a  thread 
which  the}'  make  fast  to  your  nose  ;  flimsy-winged  flies 
that  are  always  being  singed,  and  forthwith  proceed  to 
spin  round  on  their  backs  and  hum  in  a  high  key  :  straw- 
colored  crickets  that  sit  and  twiddle  their  long  antennae 
at  you  as  if  they  never  intended  moving  again,  and  then 
suddenly  launch  themselves  with  a  jerk  into  your  claret ; 
fat,  comfortable-bodied  moths,  with  thick,  slippery 
wings,  which  bang  phut-phut  against  the  ceiling,  until 
they  succeed  in  dropping  themselves  down  the  chimney 
of  the  lamp.  All  these,  however,  are  the  ruck,  the 
rabble,  the  tag-rag  and  bob-tail  that  follow  the  leader  — 
the  white  ant.  The  white  ant !  What  an  enormous 
power  this  insect  wields,  and  how  merciless  it  is  in  the 
exercise  of  it !  Here  the  houses  may  not  have  gardens, 


The  Rains.  73 


there  the  builder  must  use  no  wood.  In  this  place 
people  have  to  do  without  carpets,  and  in  that  without 
ajDiiblic  park.  Everything  must  be  of  metal,  glass,  or 
stone  that  rests  on  the  ground  even  for  a  few  hours, 
or  when  you  return  to  it,  it  will  be  merely  the  shell  of 
its  former  self.  Ruthless,  omnivorous,  the  white  ant 
respects  nothing.  And  when  in  the  rains  it  invades  the 
house,  what  horrors  supervene !  The  lamps  are  seen 
through  a  yellow  haze  of  fluttering  things  ;  the  side-board 
is  strewn  with  shed  wings ;  the  night-lights  sputter  in  a 
paste  of  corpses,  and  the  corners  of  the  rooms  are  alive 
with  creeping,  fluttering  ants,  less  destructive,  it  is  true, 
than  in  the  "  infernal  wriggle  of  maturity,"  but  more 
noisome  because  more  bulk}7  and  more  obtrusive.  The 
novelty  of  wings  soon  palls  upon  the  white  ants ;  they 
find  they  are  a  snare,  and  try  to  get  rid  of  them  as  soon 
as  possible.  They  have  not  forgotten  the  first  few  min- 
utes of  their  winged  existence,  when  they  were  drifting 
on  the  wind  with  birds  all  round  them,  when  so  many 
of  their  brothers  and  sisters  disappeared  with  a  snap  of 
a  beak,  and  when  they  themselves  were  only  saved 
from  the  same  fate  by  being  blown  into  a  bush.  From 
this  refuge  they  saw  their  comrades  pouring  out  of  the 
hole  in  the  mud  wall,  spreading  their  weak,  wide  wings, 
giving  themselves  up  to  the  wind, — which  gave  them 
up  to  the  kites  wheeling  and  recurving  amongst  the  flut- 
tering swarm,  to  the  crows,  noisy  and  coarse  even  at 
their  food,  to  the  quick-darting  mynas,  and  the  grace- 
ful, sliding  king-crow.  A  mungoose  on  the  bank  made 
frequent  raids  upon  the  unwinged  crowd  that  clustered 
at  the  mouth  of  the  hole,  keeping  an  eye  the  while  on 
the  kites,  which  ever  and  anon,  with  the  easiest  of 
curves,  but  the  speed  of  a  crossbow  bolt,  swooped  at  him 


74  The  Indian  Seasons. 

as  he  vanished  into  his  citadel.  Overhead  sat  a  vulture 
in  the  sulks,  provoked  at  having  been  persuaded  to  come 
to  catch  ants  ["Give  me  a  good  wholesome  cat  out  of 
the  river  "] ,  and  wondering  that  the  kites  could  take  the 
trouble  to  swallow  such  small  morsels.  But  the  vulture 
is  alone  in  his  opinion  if  he  thinks  that  white  ants  are 
not  an  important  feature  of  the  rains.  The  fields  may 
blush  green,  and  jungles  grow,  in  a  week,  but  unless 
the  white  ants  and  their  allies  —  hard-bodied  and  soft- 
bodied  —  come  with  the  new  leaves,  the  rains  would 
hardly  be  the  rains. 

RAINING  !  and  apparently  not  going  to  stop.  The 
trees  are  all  standing  in  their  places  quiet  as  whipped 
children,  not  a  leaf  daring  to  stir  while  the  thunder 
grumbles  and  scolds.  Now  and  again  comes  up  a 
blast  of  wet  wind,  driving  the  rain  into  fine  spray 
before  it  and  shaking  all  the  garden.  The  bamboos 
are  taken  by  surprise,  and  sway  in  confusion  here  and 
there  ;  but,  as  the  wind  settles  down  to  blow  steadily, 
their  plumed  boughs  sway  in  graceful  unison.  The 
tough  teak-tree  hardly  condescends  to  acknowledge  the 
stirring  influence,  and  flaps  its  thick  leaves  lazily  ;  the 
jamnn  is  fluttered  from  crown  to  stem ;  the  feathery 
tamarinds  are  shivering  in  consternation,  and,  panic- 
stricken,  the  acacias  toss  about  their  tasselled  leaves. 
There  is  something  almost  piteous  in  the  way  the  plan- 
tain receives  the  rude  wind.  It  throws  up  its  long 
leaves  in  an  agony,  now  drops  them  down  again  in 
despair,  now  flings  them  helplessly  about.  But  it  is 
not  often  that  there  is  high  wind  with  the  rain.  Gen- 
erally there  is  onty  rain,  —  very  much.  The  birds  knew 
what  was  coming  when  the}*  saw  the  drifting  clouds 


The  Rains.  75 


being  huddled  together,  and  the  air  has  been  jfilled  this 
hour  past  with  their  warning  cries.  They  have  now 
gone  clamorous  home.  The  green  parrots,  birds  of  the 
world  as  they  are,  went  over  long  ago,  screaming  and 
streaming  by.  The  crows,  too,  after  casting  about  for 
a  nearer  shelter,  have  flung  themselves  across  the  sky 
towards  the  hospitable  city.  But  after  a  long  interval 
come  by  the  last  birds,  who  have  dawdled  over  that 
"one  worm  more"  too  long,  calling  out  as  they  pass 
to  their  comrades  far  ahead  to  wait  for  them  ;  and  then, 
after  another  while,  comes  "the  very  last  bird,"  —  for 
when  the  storm  is  at  its  worst,  there  is  always  one  more 
to  pass,  flying  too  busily  to  speak,  and  scudding  heavily 
across  the  sloping  rain.  The  3"oung  crow  meant  to  have 
seen  the  storm  out,  and  so  he  kept  his  seat  on  the  roof, 
and  in  the  insolence  of  his  gloss}*  }'outh  rallied  his  old 
relatives  escaping  from  the  wet ;  but  a  little  later,  as  he 
flapped  his  spongy  wings  ruefully  homeward,  he  re- 
gretted that  he  had  not  listened  to  the  voice  of  experi- 
ence. For  the  rain  is  raining,  —  raining  as  if  the  water 
were  tired  of  the  world's  existence, — raining  as  if  the 
rain  hated  the  earth  with  its  flowers  and  fruits. 

And  now  the  paths  begin  to  show  how  heav}'  the  fall 
is.  On  either  side  runs  down  a  fussy  stream,  all  pitted 
with  rain-spot  dimples,  from  which  the  larger  stones  jut 
out  like  pigmy  Teneriffes  in  a  mimic  Atlantic ;  but  the 
rain  still  comes  down,  and  the  two  fussy  streams  soon 
join  into  a  shallow,  smoothly  flowing  sheet,  and  there 
is  nothing  from  bank  to  bank  but  water-bubbles  hurry- 
ing down  ;  yet,  haste  as  they  may,  they  get  their  crowns 
broken  by  the  rain-drops  before  they  reach  the  corner. 
And  now  you  begin  to  suspect  rain  on  the  sunken  lawn  ; 
but  before  long  there  is  no  room  for  mere  suspicion,  for 


76  The  Indian  Seasons. 

the  level  water  is  showing  white  through  the  green 
grass,  in  which  the  shrubs  stand  ankle-deep.  How 
patientl}-  the  flowers  wait  in  their  ditches,  bending  their 
poor  heads  to  the  ground,  and  turning  up  their  green 
calices  to  be  pelted  !  But  besides  the  trees  and  flowers 
and  washed-out  insects,  there  are  but  few  creatures  out 
in  the  rain.  Here  comes  a  seal  carrying  a  porpoise  on 
his  back.  No  !  it  is  our  friend  the  bheesty.  Dripping 
like  a  seaweed,  a  thing  of  all  weathers,  he  splashes  by 
through  the  dreary  waste  of  waters  like  one  of  the  pre- 
Adamite  creatures  in  the  Period  of  Sludge.  Who  can 
want  water  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  }'ou  feel  inclined  to 
ask,  as  the  shiny  bheesty,  bending  under  his  shiny 
water-skin,  squelches  past,  his  red  apron,  soaked  to  a 
deep  maroon,  clinging  to  his  knees.  A  servant  re- 
members something  left  out  of  doors,  and  with  his 
master's  wrath  very  present  to  him,  detaches  his  mouth 
from  the  hookah  bowl,  and  with  his  foolish  skirts  tucked 
round  his  waist,  paddles  out  into  the  rain,  showing  be- 
hind his  plaited  umbrella  like  a  toadstool  on  its  travels. 
A  young  pariah  dog  goes  by  less  dusty  and  less  miser- 
able than  usual.  The  rain  has  taken  much  of  the  curl 
out  of  his  tail,  but  he  is,  and  he  knows  it,  safer  in 
the  rain.  There  are  no  buggies  passing  now,  from 
beneath  whose  hoods,  as  the  vivid  lightning  leaps  out 
of  the  black  clouds,  will  leap  sharp  whip-lashes,  curling 
themselves  disagreeably  round  his  thin  loins,  or  tingling 
across  his  pink  nose.  There  are  no  proud  carriages 
with  arrogant  drivers  to  be  rude  to  him-  if  he  stands 
still  for  a  minute  in  the  middle  of  the  road  to  think  ;  no 
older  dogs  on  the  watch  to  dispute,  and  probably  to 
ravish  from  him,  his  infrequent  treasure  trove.  The 
worms,  too,  like  the  rain,  for  they  can  creep  easily  over 


The  Rains.  77 


the  slab  ground,  opening  and  shutting  up  their  bodies 
like  telescopes.  The  dank  frogs  doat  on  it.  They 
hop  impatiently  out,  albeit  iu  a  stealthy  way,  from 
clammy  corners,  behind  pillars,  and  under  flower-pots, 
to  see  if  their  ditches"  are  filling  nicely,  and  hop  back 
happy. 

When  it  rains  there  are,  to  those  inside  the  house, 
two  sounds,  a  greater  and  a  less,  and  it  is  curious,  and 
very  characteristic  of  our  humanity,  that  the  less  always 
seems  the  greater.  The  one  is  the  great  dead  sound  of 
falling  water  —  the  out-of-doors  being  rained  upon  — 
almost  too  large  to  hear.  The  other  is  the  splashing  of 
our  eaves.  Outside,  the  heavens  are  falling  in  detail,, 
but  the  sound  comes  to  us  only  in  its  great  expanse, 
more  large  than  loud,  heard  only  as  a  vast  mutter.  At 

O  *s 

our  verandah's  edge  is  a  poor  spout  noisily  spurting  its 
contents  upon  the  gravel-path,  and  yet  it  is  only  to  our 
own  poor  spout  that  we  give  heed.  If  it  gives  a  sudden 
spurt,  we  say,  '*  How  it  is  raining!  just  listen"  —  to 
the  spout.  The  sullen  roar  of  the  earth  submitting  to 
the  rain  we  hardly  remark.  We  listen  to  the  patch  of 
plantains  complaining  of  every  drop  that  falls  upon 
them,  but  take  no  note  of  the  downward  rush  of  water 
on  the  long-suffering,  silent  grass.  But  when  it  is  rain- 
ing be  so  good  as  to  remark  the  ducks.  The}7  are  being 
bred  for  your  table,  a  private  speculation  of  the  cook's, 
but  the}'  are  never  fed,  so  the}'  have  to  feed  themselves. 
Dinner  deferred  makcth  ducks  mad,  so  they  sail}'  forth 
in  a  quackering  series  to  look  for  worms.  Nevertheless 
they  loiter  to  wash.  Was  ever  enjoyment  more  thorough 
than  that  of  ducks  accustomed  to  live  in  a  cook-house 
(in  the  corner  by  the  stove)  who  have  been  let  out  on  a 
rainy  da}'  ?  They  can  hardly  waddle  for  joy,  and  stag- 


78  The,  Indian  Seasons. 

ger  past,  jostling  each  other  with  ill-balanced  and  gawky 
gestures.  And  now  they  have  reached  the  water.  How 
they  bob  their  heads  and  plume  their  feathers,  turning 
their  beaks  over  their  backs  and  quackering  in  subdued 
tones  !  In  their  element  the}'  grow  courageous,  for  the 
communist  crow  who  has  left  his  shelter  to  see  "  what 
on  earth  those  ducks  can  have  got,"  and  who  has  settled 
near  them,  is  promptly  charged,  beak  lowered,  by  the 
drake,  who  waggles  his  curly  tail  in  pride  as  the  evil 
fowl  goes  flapping  away. 

But  let  the  ducks  quacker  their  short  lives  out  in  the 
garden  puddles  —  the  carrion  crow  is  off  to  the  river, 
for  the  great  river  is  in  flood,  and  many  a  choice  morsel, 
it  knows,  is  floating  down  to  the  sea.  Videlicet  the 
succulent  kid  ;  guinea-fowls  surprised  on  their  nests  by 
the  sudden  water ;  young  birds  that  had  sat  chirping  for 
help  on  bush  and  stone  as  the  flood  rose  up  and  up,  the 
parent  birds  fluttering  round,  powerless  to  help  and  wild 
with  protracted  sorrow  ;  snakes  which  hiding  in  their 
holes  had  hoped  to  tire  out  the  water,  but  which,  when 
the  banks  gave  wa}*,  were  swept  struggling  out  into  the 
current ;  the  wild  caf  s  litter,  which  the  poor  mother  with 
painful  toil  had  carried  into  the  deepest  cranny  of  the 
rock,  drowned  in  a  cluster,  and  floating  down  the  river 
to  the  muggurs.1 

The  muggur  is  a  gross  pleb,  and  his  features  stamp 
him  low-born.  His  manners  are  coarse.  The  wading 
heifer  has  hardly  time  to  utter  one  terror-stricken  groan 
ere"  she  is  below  the  crimson-bubbled  water.  Woe  to. 
the  herdsman  if  he  leads  his  kine  across  the  ford.  The 
water-fowl  floating  on  the  river,  the  patient  ibis,  the 
grave  sarus-cranes,  fare  ill  if  they  tempt  the  squalid 

1  Broad-snouted  crocodile. 


The  Rains.  79 


brute.  The  ghurial l  is  of  a  finer  breed.  Living  in  the 
water  he  seeks  his  food  in  it,  and  does  not  flaunt  his 
Maker  with  improvidence  by  wandering  on  the  dry 
earth  in  search  of  sustenance.  But  at  times  the  coarse 
admixture  of  his  blood  shows  out,  and  he  imitates  his 
vulgar  cousin  in  tying  by  the  water's  edge,  where  the 
grazing  kine  may  loiter,  the  weary  peasant  be  trudging 
unobservant  towards  his  home,  his  little  son  gathering 
drift-wood  along  the  flood-line  as  he  goes. 

And  the  flood  is  out  over  the  gardens  and  fields.  Out 
on  the  broad  lagoon,  the  gra}'- white  kingfisher,  with 
its  shrill  cry,  is  shooting  to  and  fro  where  yesterday 
the  feeble-winged  thrush-babblers  were  wrangling  over 
worms  :  the  crocodile  rests  his  chin  on  the  grass-knoll 
where  a  few  hours  ago  two  rats  were  sporting.  See  the 
kingfisher,  —  how  he  darts  from  his  watch-tower,  checks 
suddenly  his  forward  flight,  starts  upwards  for  a  moment, 
hovering  over  the  water  with  craning  neck.  And  now 
his  quick-beating  wings  close,  and  straight  as  a  falling 
aerolite  he  drops,  his  keen,  strong  beak  cleaving  the 
vfny  before  him.  And  with  what  an  exultant  sweep  he 
comes  up,  with  the  fish  across  his  bill !  The  kingfisher 
is  too  proud  to  blunder:  if  he  touches  the  water  he 
strikes  his  prej- ;  but  rather  than  risk  failure,  he  swerves 
when  in  his  downward  course  to  swerve  had  seemed  im- 
possible, and  skimming  the  ruffled  surface  goes  back  to 
his  watch-tower.  He  would  not  have  his  mate  on  the 
dead  branch  }-onder  see  him  miss  his  aim  ;  rather  than 
hazard  discomfiture  he  simulates  contempt,  turning  back 
with  a  cheery  cry  to  her  side,  while  the  lucky  fishlet 
darts  deep  among  the  weeds. 

The  great  river  is  in  flood.     "Oh,  Indra  the  Rain- 

1  Sharp-snouted  crocodile. 


80  The  Indian  Seasons. 

giver,  by  all  thy  Vedic  glories,  we  invoke  thee,  be 
merciful !  "  Miles  down  they  will  know  it  by  the  sudden 
rush,  —  the  bridges  of  boats  that  will  part  asunder,  and 
the  clumsy,  high-prowed  native  craft  that  will  sink  ;  but 
here,  where  the  mischief  has  its  source,  where  the  heavy 
rain  is  falling  and  the  deluge  brewing,  there  is  nothing 
to  mark  the  change.  But  the  river  swells  up  secretly, 
as  it  were,  from  underneath.  The  flood  is  to  be  a 
surprise  ;  and  lo  !  suddenly,  the  water  is  spread  out  on 
either  side,  over  crops  and  grass  fields.  Where  are  the 
islands  gone  on  which  the  wiseacre  adjutant-birds  were 
yesterday  promenading?  Are  those  babool-trees  or 
fishermen's  platforms  out  yonder  in  the  middle  of  the 
river?  Surely  there  used  to  be  a  large  field  hereabouts 
with  a  buffalo's  whitened  skull  lying  in  the  corner,  and  a 
young  mango-tree  growing  about  the  middle  of  it? 
Can  that  be  the  mango-tree  yonder  where  the  current 
takes  a  sudden  swerve?  Alas  for  the  squirrels  that  had 
their  nest  in  it !  Alas  for  the  vagrant  guinea-fowl 
which  far  from  home  had  hidden  her  speckled  eggs  in 
the  tall  tussock  of  sharp-edged  grass  which  grew  by  the 
buffalo  skull ! 

Those  two  villages  yonder  were  yesterday  separated 
only  b}r  a  green  valley  streaked  b}r  a  hundred  footpaths  ; 
they  now  look  at  each  other  across  a  lake.  The  kine 
used  to  know  their  way  home,  but  are  [puzzled.  Here, 
they  feel  certain,  is  the  tree  at  which  yesterday  they 
turned  to  the  right,  and  this  is  the  path  which  led  them 
down  a  hill  and  up  another,  but  it  ends  to-da}-  in  water ! 
How  cautiously  they  tread  their  way,  sinking  lower, 
lower  —  so  gradually  that  we  can  hardly  tell  that  the}' 
have  begun  to  swim ;  but  there  is  now  a  rod  and  more 
between  the  last  cow  and  the  shore  where  the  herdsman 


The  Rains.  81 

stands  watching.  He  sees  them  climb  out  on  the  other 
side,  one  behind  the  other,  sees  their  broad  backs  sloped 
against  the  hill  before  him.  Then  they  reach  the  top 
and  lowing  break  into  a  trot,  disappearing  gladl}*  behind 
the  mud  walls  which  contain  their  food ;  and  the  herds- 
man turns  and  trudges  the  circuit  of  the  invading  water. 

One  }*ear  the  Ganges  and  the  Jumna  conspired  to- 
gether to  flood  the  province,  and  suddenly  swelling 
over  their  banks,  desolated  in  a  night  half  the  busy  city 
of  Allahabad.  We  brought  our  boat  up  to  the  new 
lagoons,  and  for  a  whole  day  sailed  about  among  name- 
less islands,  great  groves  of  bird-deserted  trees,  and  the 
ruins  of  many  villages,  amid  scenes  as  strange  and  as 
beautiful  as  we  shall  ever  see  again.  The  Maruts, 
armed  with  their  hundred-jointed  bolts,  and  the  storm- 
god  Peru,  of  the  thunder-black  hair  and  beard  of  light- 
ning-gold, who  goes  rumbling  over  the  midnight  clouds 
astride  a  millstone  —  and  all  the  little  hearth-spirits 
quake  at  his  going  and  fear  falls  upon  the  house  —  had 
been  abroad  for  man}'  daj's.  And  the  river-gods  were 
up  at  their  bidding,  and  the  clouds  poured  into  the 
rivers,  and  the  rivers  drove  down  to  the  sea.  And  be- 
fore the  pitiless  rush  of  the  flood,  what  difference 
between  man  and  beast?  All  of  them  rats  alike,  poor 
creeping  folk,  flooded  out  of  their  holes.  .The  same 
wind  and  rain  tore  the  crow's  nest  from  the  tree  and  the 
roof  from  the  native's  hut ;  the  same  flood  carried  the 
two  away  together.  The  tiger,  the  man,  and  the  wood- 
louse  were  all  on  one  platform,  and  that  which  crept 
highest  was  the  best  among  them. 

Starting  in  our  boat  from  the  spot  where  once  four 
cross-roads  had  met,  we  crossed  over  towards  the  belt 
of  trees  that  hides  the  city  from  sight  as  you  look 

6 


82  The  Indian  Seasons. 

westward.  Deep  down  beneath  us,  patient  crops  of 
millet  were  standing  in'  their  places,  waiting  for  the 
water  to  pass  away ;  acres  of  broad-leafed  melons 
looked  up  at  our  boat  as  we  wound  in  and  out 
among  the  trees  and  little  temples.  With  some  thirty 
feet  of  water  below  us  we  floated  over  the  brickfields 
and  came  to  a  village,  and,  skirting  the  ruins  of  the 
suburbs,  passed  out  again  through  a  tope  of  mango-trees 
into  the  open.  A  garden  lay  before  us.  The  pillars  of 
the  gateway  had  strange  animals  upon  the  tops  of  them, 
rampant  against  shields ;  but  in  the  flood  they  looked 
as  if  they  were  standing  tiptoe  upon  their  hind  legs  in 
the  hope  of  keeping  out  of  the  water  which  lapped  over 
their  clawed  feet.  Over  the  wall  and  into  the  garden. 
Such  a  place  for  Naiads !  The  tops  of  plantain-trees 
instead  of  lotus-pads,  for  bulrushes  bamboo  spikes,  and 
instead  of  water-tangle  the  fair  green  crowns  of  bushes, 
lit  up  with  blossoms.  Rustling  through  the  guava-tops, 
half-ripened  citrons  knocking  against  our  boat's  keel, 
we  pass  out  over  the  other  wall  of  the  garden,  and 
found  ourselves  in  a  superb  canal,  avenued  on  either 
side  with  tamarinds,  their  lowest  branches  dipping  in 
the  flood,  and  closed  in  at  the  further  end  with  a 
handsome  pleasure-house  that  stood  —  the  only  building, 
except  the  stone-built  temples,  that  had  braved  the  rush 
of  the  escaping  river  —  knee-deep  in  the  water.  The 
scene  had  all  the  charms  of  land  and  water,  without  the 
blemishes  of  either ;  for  the  water  had  no  vulgar  banks, 
no  slim}'  slopes  nor  leprous  sand-patches ;  while  the 
houses  had  no  lower  stories,  and  the  round  crowns  of 
foliage  no  unsightly  trunks.  And  there  was  not  a 
human  being  in  sight !  River  terns  swept  in  and  out 
among  the  garden  trees,  furrowing  the  new  water-fields 


The  Bains.  83 


with  their  orange  bills,  and  resting,  when  tired,  upon 
the  painted  balconies  of  the  pleasure-house. 

And  we  rowed  past  the  dwarfed  walls  with. the  dreary, 
pleasant  sound  of  the  flood  lapping  against  them,  and 
passed  down  the  stately  reach  of  water  till  we  came  to  the 
beautiful  temple  of  Mahadeva,  that  lifts  up  its  crown  of 
maroon  and  gold  high  out  of  the  solemn  hush  of  the  trees 
among  which  its  foundations  lie.  A  golden  god  glittered 
at  the  point — a  star  to  the  people.  The  gate  was  closed, 
but  as  we  lay  on  our  oars  before  it,  there  came,  on  the 
sudden  from  within,  the  clanging  of  the  temple  bell,  that 
through  all  the  year  rings  in  every  hour  of  night  or  day  ! 
Who  was  pulling  the  bell?  A  merman?  Perhaps,  for- 
saken by  all  his  priests,  the  god  himself!  We  shouted. 
A  tern  was  startled  by  the  shout,  and  an  owl  fell  out  of  a 
hole  in  the  wall ;  but  there  was  no  reply.  Another 
shout,  however,  was  answered  —  was  it  a  human  voice  ? — 
and  then  we  heard  the  unseen  bell-ringer  swimming 
to  the  gate.  It  opened  after  much  trouble  and  splash- 
ing, and  we  floated  into  the  enclosure,  came  into  the 
Lake  of  Silence,  our  guide  swimming  alongside.  What 
a  strangely  sacred  place  it  seemed,  this  temple  to  Maha- 
deva !  Up  to  its  terrace  in  water,  the  marble  bulls 
couchant  in  the  flood,  on  which  floated  here  and  there 
the  last  votive  marigolds  thrown  before  the  god,  the 
shrine  was  the  very  emblem  of  Faith,  as  it  reared  its 
glittering  crown  skyward  up  above  the  creeping,  treach- 
erous water,  —  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines  perhaps, 
but  the  Samson  nevertheless,  —  its  feet  in  the  toils,  but 
head  erect  to  heaven.  We  all  talked  in  a  more  or  less 
maudlin  way,  for  sentiment  made  a  fool  of  each  in  turn. 
But  no  one  of  us  who  saw  it  can  forget  that  strange 
Indian  scene.  The  gracious  water  sparkled  from  wall 


84  The  Indian  Seasons. 

to  wall  of  the  small  enclosure,  concealing  all  the  dirt 
of  the  common  earth,  and  all  that  was  impure  or 
unsightly  reund  the  foot  of  the  temple.  The  flowering 
bushes  rested  their  blossoms  on  the  water,  and  the  shrubs 
showed  only  their  green  crowns.  The  squalor  and 
clamor  of  an  Indian  temple  were  all  gone,  and  in  their 
stead  was  the  cleansing,  mock-reverent  water  and  the 
silence  of  Dreamland.  The  glamour  of  the  place  was 
strange  beyond  words.  For  sound  there  was  only  the 
plash  of  the  water-bird's  wing,  and  the  rlrythmic  lapping 
of  the  flood  against  the  balconades.  For  the  view,  it  was 
hemmed  in  by  the  tree-tops  that  overlooked  the  enclosure 
on  all  four  sides.  But  within  the  small  area  was  all  that 
enchantment  needed.  It  was  Fairyland,  with  only  a 
bright  summer's  sun  shining  upon  ever}-  thing  to  remind 
us  of  the  everj'-day  earth.  But  suddenly  the  bell  rang 
again.  Fairyland  or  not,  the  hours  were  passing.  So 
we  floated  out  of  the  doorway  again  into  the  exquisite 
water-road,  and  sailed  away.  Look  where  we  would, 
water,  water,  water,  margined  and  broken  by  groves  of 
trees,  with  here  and  there  a  suspicion  of  ruined  houses 
from  which  now  and  again  came  wailing  along  the  water 
the  cry  of  some  deserted  dog.  But  nothing  of  every-day 
life  !  Where  were  the  villages,  with  their  cracked  mud 
walls?  the  loitering  natives,  the  roads  and  their  dusty 
traffic?  the  creeping,  creaking  bullock-carts,  and  the 
jingling  ekkas,  baboo-laden?  There  were  no  parrot- 
ravaged  crops,  no  muddy  buffaloes,  no  limping,  sneaking 
pariah  dogs  to  remind  us  of  India.  Even  the  kites,  sail- 
ing in  great  circles  above  the  broad  sunlit  water,  did  not 
seem  the  same  birds  that  a  few  days  before  wheeled  in 
hopes  of  offal  round  the  village.  The  vulture  on  the 
palm-top  was  a  very  Jatayus  among  vultures.  Where 


The  Rains.  85 


were  we  then  but  in  Dreamland  ?  A  solitary  palm  —  do 
you  remember  how  Xerxes  went  out  of  his  way  with  his 
army  to  do  homage  to  the  great  plane-tree  that  queened 
it  in  the  desert  alone  ?  —  attracted  us,  and  we  sailed  for 
it.  All  great  trees  grow  alone.  This  one  was  standing 
between  two  round  little  islands  bright  with  young  grass, 
so  close  and  clean  that  they  looked  like  green  velvet 
footstools  for  some  giant's  use.  Their  shores  were 
fringed  with  drift-wood  and  strange  jetsam,  among  which 
bobbed  up  and  down  some  great  round  palm-fruit ;  and 
on  the  top  of  each  island  sat  a  solitary  crow.  The}-  had 
come,  no  doubt,  from  Kurghalik,  the  capital  (so  Thibetan 
legends  say)  of  crowdom.  At  any  rate,  they  were 
Dreamland  crows.  They  were  less  criminal  in  appear- 
ance than  earth  crows  ;  they  did  not  insult  us  by  word  or 
gesture,  for  they  did  not  caw  once ;  nor,  when  we  ap- 
proached, did  they  sidle  or  hop  sideways.  Some  of  my 
readers  may  not  easily  believe  in  such  a  revolution  of 
crow  nature,  but  those  take  high  ground  who  maintain 
that  no  change  of  character,  however  violent,  is  impos- 
sible. Did  not  Alcibiades  the  volupt  become  a  Spartan 
for  the  nonce  !  Remember  Saul  of  Tarsus. 

As  we  landed,  one  crow  raised  itself  with  all  the 
dignity  of  a  better  bird,  and  with  three  solemn  flaps 
passed  over  to  the  central  top  of  the  farther  island  ;  and 
when  we  went  there  to  take  possession  of  it  also  "  in 
the  Queen's  name,"  both  of  them  flapped  with  three 
strokes  back  to  the  first.  And  we  christened  one  island 
Engedi,  for  we  remembered  Holy  Writ,  "exalted  as 
the  palm-tree  in  Engedi ; "  and  the  other  we  called 
the  Loochoo  Island,  for  Loochoo  means  in  Japanese, 
' '  the  Islet  in  a  Waste  of  Waters  "  —  a  great  deal 
for  a  word  to  mean,  but  true  nevertheless.  Humpty- 


86  The  Indian  Seasons. 

Dumpty  would  have  called  it  a  "  portmanteau  word." 
And  we  gave  the  crows  commissions  as  Lieutenant- 
Governors  from  Her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria,  quamdiu 
se  bene  gesserint.  And  then  we  went  on  to  another 
island,  a  long  one  with  a  tree  in  the  middle.  And 
under  the  tree  stood  a  white  calf,  so  we  knew  at  once 
that  this  was  a  water-calf.  For  there  was  no  land  it 
could  have  come  from  within  sight,  and  no  human  being 
but  ourselves  within  a  mile  of  it  on  either  side.  And 
at  night  when  thieves  bring  their  boats  to  steal  what 
they  consider  quite  an  ordinary  calf,  deserted,  they 
think,  by  its  owner  when  the  swift  flood  overtook  him, 
the  calf  no  doubt  dives  under  the  water,  and  thus  evades 
them. 

The  rest  of  the  islands  were  deserted.  The  ruins  of 
houses  and  temples,  waist-deep  in  water,  showed  that 
within  recent  times  there  had  been  inhabitants  of  this 
strange  and  beautiful  archipelago.  Icthyophagi  no 
doubt.  There  was  nothing  else  for  them  to  eat.  But 
just  now  the  birds  were  alone.  All  round  us  the  king- 
fishers (long  may  ye  live  before  ye  become  poor  men's 
barometers !)  poised  in  the  air,  and,  wild  as  the  cry  of 
the  wild  ass  in  the  Bikanir  deserts,  came  to  us  the 
scream  of  the  fishing-hawk.  But  no  —  the  birds  were 
not  alone.  The  flood  had  driven  from  the  earth  its  mul- 
titude of  creeping  folk  :  snakes  hung  across  the  forks  of 
trees,  or  basked  on  the  branches  ;  centipedes  crawled 
upon  floating  rubbish  ;  and  many  bushes  were  black  to 
every  tip  with  thronging  ants.  In  one  tree-hollow  we 
surprised  strange  company  —  a  pair  of  gorgeous  dhaman 
snakes,  three  bran-new  centipedes  bright  as  copper,  a 
most  villainous-looking  spider,  and  a  gem  of  a  frog,  a 
little  metallic  creature  that  showed  among  the  foul  crew 


The  Rains.  87 

like  the  maiden  among  Comus's  companions.  We  dis- 
turbed them  rudely,  and  then  went  in  pursuit  of  a  bandicoot 
that  was  swimming  to  an  unwonted  roost —  poor  wretch  ! 
—  in  a  citron  tree.  A  little  bird  was  sitting  on  a  bush, 
scratching  its  head,  its  day's  work  over,  and  thinking 
of  nothing  in  particular ;  but  a  hawk  that  had  had  no 
dinner  came  b3',  and  gave  it  something  to  think  about. 
A  pariah  dog  had  a  litter  upon  a  patch  of  tiles,  all  that 
remained  of  a  house-roof,  and  we  rescued  the  starveling 
brute.  A  rat  floated  by  in  a  sieve  :  another  was  cruis- 
ing more  dryly  in  a  gourd.  Look  at  that  squirrel !  The 
imposture  is  out.  So  long  as  he  had  the  firm  earth  to 
fall  back  upon,  he  lived  bravely  enough  in  the  trees ; 
but  now  that  he  has  only  the  trees,  he  is  starving.  The 
"tree  squirrel"  forsooth!  But  was  there  no  Isis  or 
Osiris,  no  Apis  of  the  "  awful  front,"  nor  dog-headed 
Anubis  to  tell  it  that  the  floods  were  coming?  In 
Egypt  some  one  tells  the  crocodiles  every  year  how 
high  the  Nile  will  rise ;  for  let  the  sourceless  river  rise 
never  so  much,  the  great  suariaii's  eggs  are  always  found 
above  the  reach  of  the  highest  wave.  But  the  squirrel 
without  the  ground  is  better  off  than  a  grasshopper 
without  grass  to  hop  in  :  it  is  then  a  poor  thing  indeed. 
One  hopped  into  our  boat  —  a  desperate  leap  for  life  — 
such  as  egg-seekers  take  at  the  dangling  rope  on  St. 
Kilda's  face.  I  remember  reading  in  Bacon  that  "  the 
vigor  of  the  grasshopper  consists  only  in  their  voices." 
That  they  can  make  a  noise  out  of  all  proportion  to 
their  size  is  true,  but  it  seems-  to  me  that  Bacon  cast 
undeservedly  a  slur  upon  the  "  gaers  toop."  The 
particular  grasshopper  in  point  may  have  been  a  cripple, 
but,  as  a  rule,  the  insect  has  a  shrewd  way  of  hopping 
that  makes  me  think  respectfully  of  bis  hind  legs,  and 


88  The  Indian  Seasons. 

looking  into  the  matter,  I  find  I  am  borne  out  by  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  who  sa}*s,  "  whereto  [that  is  leaping] 
it  is  very  well  conformed,  for  therein  the  [grasshopper] 
the  legs  behind  are  longer  than  all  the  body,  and  make 
at  the  second  joint  acute  angles  at  a  considerable  ad- 
vancement above  their  bodies."  Do  not  the  French 
call  the  grasshopper  sauterelle  ?  A  poor  beetle  with  the 
shoulders  of  Atlas  and  the  thighs  of  Hercules,  which  in 
dryer  weather  drove  headlong  through  the  solid  earth, 
heaving  great  pebbles  up  as  Enceladus  heaves  Etna, 
was  sprawling  helpless  as  a  moth  upon  the  water. 
We  rescued  Goliath  and  went  on.  A  frog,  great  with 
rain-water  and  inordinately  puffed  up,  sat  pudgily  on  a 
stump.  It  narrowly  escaped  with  life,  for  the  sight  of  it 
enwrathed  us.  Had  the  floods  then  (a  nation's  history 
closing  in  a  sudden  stroke  of  picturesque  fate)  tragi- 
cally closed  an  era,  that  a  spotted  frog  might  go  com- 
fortably? The  Empire  of  Assyria  expiring  with  the 
flames  of  Sardanapalus's  pyre  —  Babylon  poured  out 
under  the  feet  of  the  Mede  with  the  wine  along  Bel- 
shazzar's  palace  floor  —  the  Icthyophagi  succumbing  to 
the  united  wrath  of  a  continent's  mightiest  rivers,  and 
gone  to  feed  the  fish  they  fed  on  !  All  this  that  a  gape- 
mouthed  batrachian  might  give  itself  complacent  airs  ! 
The  earth  submerged,  the  Caucasian  a  failure,  and  a 
frog  happy !  A  deluge,  whirling  men  and  their  houses 
away  to  the  sea,  to  be  a  holiday  and  a  Golden  Age  for  a 
gross  amphibian  !  The  idea  incensed  us-,  and  the  frog 
was  in  a  parlous  state.  But  it  escaped. 

Meanwhile  the  sun  is  setting,  and  we  turn  homewards 
—  home  in  the  dusk.  The  terns  are  all  gone,  but  in 
their  place  the  flying-foxes  flap  heavily  along  the  water, 
and  the  owls  hail  us  from  all  the  shadows.  How  appro- 


The  Rains.  89 


priate  to  the  owl  are  the  words  of  the  poet  (to  the 
nightingale)  — 

"  Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of  folly, 
Most  musical,  most  melancholy." 

The  very  name  too,  ooloo,  is  a  sweet  symphony.  The 
frogs  jeered  as  we  passed.  One  of  us  recalled  the 
lines  — 

"  You  shall  have  most  delightful  melodies  as  soon  as  you  lay  to 
your  oars. 

"  From  whom  ? 

"  From  swans  —  the  frogs  —  wondrous  ones." 

And  so  through  a  chorus  of  exulting  batrachians, 
home  again  to  the  solid  earth,  the  noise  of  men,  and 
the  multitudinous  chirping  of  birds. 


90  The  Indian  Seasons. 


III. 
THE  COLD   WEATHER. 

"  Ah  !  if  to  thee 
It  feels  Elysian,  how  rich  to  me, 
An  exiled  mortal,  sounds  its  pleasant  name ! 

0  let  me  cool  me  zephyr-boughs  among  !  " 

Endymion. 

CHRISTMAS  EVE!  Overhead  is  stretched  the 
V_x  tent  of  heaven,  and  beneath  the  dome  are  ranged 
in  full  durbar  the  rajah-planets,  attendant  on  them 
crowds  of  courtier-asteroids  and  stars.  The  durbar  is 
assembled  to  welcome  Christmas  Day.  The  moon,  the 
Viceroy  of  the  day,  presides,  and  all,  the  feudatory 
luminaries  of  the  empire  are  in  their  places,  and  the 
splendor  of  Hindoo  Raja,  or  Mahomedan  Nawab  is  as 
nothing  to  that  of  Orion.  How  quiet  all  is !  Not  a 
whisper  or  a  movement  as  the  galaxy  of  night  awaits 
the  arrival  of  Christmas  Day. 

I  was  waiting  for  it  too.  The  night  seemed  so  still 
and  calm  that  I  felt  as  if  somehow  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  had  stolen  away  from  their  homes  and  gone  some- 
where, leaving  me  alone  to  represent  Europe  at  this  re- 
ception of  Christmas.  Not  that  there  were  no  sounds 
near  me.  There  was  my  pony  munching  gram  very 
audibly,  my  servants'  hookahs  sounded  more  noisily 
than  usual ;  the  dogs  under  the  tree  were  gnawing  bones, 


The  Cold  Weather.  91 

and  not  far  from  me,  crouching  beside  a  fire  of  wood, 
three  villagers  were  cleaning  a  leopard  skin.  On  the 
iheel  behind  me  the  wild  geese  were  settling  with  con- 
gratulatory clamor. 

It  is  curious  that  those  notes  which,  among  birds, 
give  expression  to  the  unamiable  feelings  of  anger  and 
animosity,  are  more  musical  than  the  notes  of  love  and 
pleasure.  Among  human  beings  no  passion  has  evoked 
such  sweet  song  as  love.  Among  birds,  however,  the 
voice  of  love  is  more  often  wanting  in  sweetness.  The 
bittern,  when  it  calls  to  its  mate,  fills  the  dark  reed-beds 
with  the  ghostliest  sound  that  man  has  ever  heard  from 
the  throat  of  a  bird  ;  the  cluck  of  the  wooing  cock,  that 
crows  so  grandly  when  aroused  to  wrath  or  jealousy,  is 
ridiculous  ;  the  love-note  of  the  bulbul  is  an  inarticulate 
animal  noise  ;  the  crow-pheasant,  —  who  does  not  know 
the  whoo-whoo-whoo  with  which  this  strange  bird,  hidden 
in  the  centre  foliage  of  a  tree,  summons  its  brooding 
mate?  The  mj-nas,  again,  how  curious  and  inappro- 
priate are  their  love-notes !  But  show  the  bulbul  an- 
other of  his  sex,  and  in  a  voice  most  mnsically  sweet 
he  challenges  the  intruder  to  battle.  Look  at  that 
strident  king-crow  swinging  on  the  bamboo's  tip.  A 
rival  passes,  and  with  a  long-drawn  whistle  he  slides 
through  the  air,  and  in  melodious  antiphony  the  strangers 
engage.  Let  the  cock  hear  the  lord  of  another  seraglio 
emptying  his  lungs,  and  with  what  lusty  harmony  will 
he  send  him  back  the  challenge  ! 

Quite  near  me,  too,  the  river  was  flowing  over  and 
among  large  stones,  with  a  constant  bubbling  and  occa- 
sional splash.  But  beyond  the  few  yards  lit  by  my 
camp-fires,  in  the  great,  pale,  sleeping  -world,  lit  only 
by  the  cold  stars,  lying  far  and  away  bej-oud  my  tents, 
was  a  monochrome  of  silence. 


92  The  Indian  Seasons. 

And  I  sat  at  m}'  tent-door  smoking,  smoking,  think- 
ing of  the  daj"  I  had  passed,  the  da}-s  before  that,  and 
the  days  before  them.  Christmas  Eve  !  In  an  hour  all 
the  bells  in  England  will  be  ringing  in  the  day ;  and,  in 
one  home  at  least,  the  little  ones  —  an  infrequent  treat 
—  will  be  sitting  with  firelit  eyes  and  cheeks  beside  the 
fender,  watching  the  chestnuts  roast  and  the  clock  creep 
round  to  twelve.  Yes  ;  at  home  the  children  are  sitting 
up,  I  know,  to  see  Christmas  Day  in  ;  and  waiting,  they 
grow  tired.  The  moment  arrives,  the  hand  is  at  the 
hour,  a  chestnut  is  absorbing  all  attention  ;  when  on  a 
sudden,  with  a  clash  from  all  the  steeples,  the  mad  bells 
fling  out  their  music  on  the  wild  night.  The  great  chest- 
nut question  is  postponed,  and,  starting  from  the  hearth- 
rug, the  little  voices  chime  together,  "  A  merry  Christ- 
mas ; "  and  then,  with  clamorous  salutations,  the  kisses 
are  exchanged,  and,  eager  in  conversation,  the  little  ones 
climb  upstairs  to  their  cosy  beds,  the  bells  still  clashing 
out  on  the  keen  winter  air.  And  the  old  folks  sit  be- 
low, and,  while  the  shivering  Waits  in  the  street  are 
whining  out  their  hideous  thanksgiving,  give  one  more 
thought  to  the  }*ear  that  is  gone.  And  the  last  thought 
is  always  a  sad  one.  For  after  all,  on  this  planet  of 
ours,  Life,  with  its  periods  of  hard  work  and  its  inter- 
vals of  careless  leisure,  is  happy  enough.  What  though 
we  do  come  into  it  with  our  miseries  ready-made,  and 
only  the  materials  for  our  pleasures  provided?  Some- 
how I  had  fashioned  my  pleasures  very  much  to  my 
liking  in  the  year  that  was  gone,  and  as  I  looked  back 
on  it,  there  were  few  days,  cold,  hot,  or  rain}*,  that  did 
not,  now  that  they  were  dead,  come  back  to  me,  as  I 
sat  there  thinking,  as  pleasant  memories. 

Christmas  Eve  !  no  bells,  no  beef,  no  holly,  no  rnistle- 


The  Cold  Weather.  93 

toe  nearer  than  the  Himalayas  !  Christmas  Eve  without 
a  dance,  without  a  single  "  merry  Christmas"  wish! 
Christmas  Eve  and  no  chilblains,  no  miserable  Waits, 
no  Christinas  boxes  or  Christmas  bills  !  well,  well,  — 
the  past  is  the  past,  a  bitter  sweet  at  best ;  let  it  pass. 
Our  Christmas  Eve  in  India  is  a  strange  affair.  Instead 
of  church-bells  we  have  jackals,  and  instead  of  holly- 
berries  the  weird  moon-convolvulus.  Look  at  the  ghostly 
creeper  there,  holding  out  its  great  dead-white  moons  of 
blossom  to  beautify  the  owl's  da}*.  The  natives  in  the 
south  of  India  have  a  legend,  —  the  Legend  of  the  Moon- 
flower.  There  was  once,  the}'  say,  a  maiden,  exceed- 
ingly beautiful,  and  modest  as  she  was  beautiful.  To 
her  the  admiration  of  men  was  a  sorrow  from  mornino- 

C1 

to  night,  and  her  life  was  made  weary  with  the  impor- 
tunities of  her  lovers.  From  her  parents  she  could  get 
no  help,  for  they  only  said,  "Choose  one  of  them  for 
your  husband,  and  you  will  be  left  alone  by  the  others." 
From  her  friends  she  got  less,  for  the  men  called  her 
heartless,  and  the  woman  said  her  coyness  would  be 
abandoned  before  a  suitor  wealthier  than  her  village 
wooers.  But  how  could  the}-  know  that  one  evening, 
soft  and  cool,  as  the  maiden  sat  at  her  father's  porch, 
and  there  were  no  eyes  near  but  the  little  owls'  on  the 
roof  and  the  fireflies'  under  the  tamarinds,  there  had 
come  out  from  the  guava-trees  a  stranger  youth  who 
had  wooed  her  and  won  her,  and  who,  with  a  kiss  on 
her  fair,  upturned  face,  had  sealed  the  covenant  of  their 
love  ?  But  she  knew  it ;  and  sitting,  when  the  evenings 
were  soft  and  cool,  at  her  father's  porch,  she  waited  for 
the  stranger's  return.  But  he  never  came  back;  and 
her  life,  sorely  vexed  by  her  lovers,  became  a  burden 
to  her,  and  she  prayed  for  help  to  the  gods.  And  they, 


94  The  Indian  Seasons. 

in  their  pity  for  her,  turned  her  into  the  great  white 
moon-plant,  which,  clinging  to  her  father's  porch,  still 
•waits  in  the  evenings  with  upturned  face  for  the  truant's 
kiss.  For  myself,  I  think  they  look  like  saucers.  At 
:all  events,  they  are  not,  according  to  English  tastes,  the 
fit  blossom  of  Christmas  time.  But  then  English  tastes 
are  not  fit  for  Christmas  time  in  India.  The  season  of 
frost  and  ice  and  snow  suggests  to  us  fires,  furs,  and 
mulled  port-wine  ;  reminds  us  of  skating  on  ice-covered 
ponds  and  dancing  in  holly-bright  rooms.  The  Christ- 
mas bills  .are  a  skeleton  to  some ;  but  even  with  the 
butcher,  the  baker,  and  the  grocer  dancing  a  cannibalic 
war-dance  at  the  area-gate,  there  is  hardly  a  home  where 
Christmas  is  not  "  mem',"  and  Hans  Andersen's  sexton, 
who  struck  the  boy  for  laughing  on  Christmas  Eve,  is  con- 
sidered a  prodigy  of  infamy.  But  "the  cold  weather," 
as  we  in  India  are  pleased  to  call  the  months  at  the  end 
and  beginning  of  the  year,  does  not  suggest  mirthfulness 
to  our  Aryan  brother  ;  it  shrivels  him  up.  Months  ago, 
when  the  sun  was  killing  the  northern  blood  within  us, 
the  lizards  lay  happily  basking  on  the  hot  stones,  the 
coppery  danais  flitted  at  ease  about  the  shrubs,  above 
which  the  air  of  mid-day  stood  shimmering  and  tremu- 
lous with  heat,  and  our  An~an  brothers,  stretched  in  the 
shade  of  tree  and  wall,  were  content  with  God's  earth. 
But  now  that  the  crisp  morning  air  lends  vigor  to  Eng- 
lish limbs,  making  home  intolerable  and  a  wild  out-door 
life  a  necessity,  the  lizard  has  shrunk  into  a  crack  of 
the  wall,  the  danais  is  hybernating,  and  our  Aryan 
brother  creeps  about  his  daily  avocations  with  the  de- 
siccated appearance  of  a  frozen  frog,  or  sits  in  dormouse 
torpidity  with  his  knees  about  his  ears.  The  revenge 
of  the  Briton  is  delicious  to  him,  and  in  the  cold  weather 


The  Cold  Weather.  95 

he  triumphs  over  the  Ar}~an  brother  who  in  May  and 
June  was  rustling  comfortably  in  gauze  and  muslin. 
The  morning  ride  or  walk  when  the  air  is  keen  is  to 
him  (pace  Charles  Lamb  !)  as  a  passage  of  the  Red  Sea, 
even-  native  an  Egyptian  ;  and  he  laughs,  like  King  Olaf 
at  the  thin  beggar,  to  see  the  wretched  Hindoo,  robbing 
his  spare  legs  to  protect  his  head,  pass  by  silent  with 
the  misery  of  cold.  At  night  he  finds  them  curled  into 
inconceivable  spaces  under  their  blankets,  —  and  such 
blankets  !  a  network  of  rough  strings  with  hairs  stretch- 
ing across  the  interstices,  the  very  ghosts  of  blankets, 
at  which  Witney  would  hold  its  woolly  sides  with  laugh- 
ter. And  with  many-folded  cloths  round  his  benumbed 
head,  over  all  the  blanket,  the  Hindoo  walks  deaf  under 
your  horse's  nose,  stands  before  your  buggy-wheels  like 
a  frostbitten  paddy-bird.  The  Tamils  call  the  paddy- 
bird  the  "blind  idiot."  On  a  December  morning  the 
pompous  chuprassie  has  no  more  self-respect  than  a 
sparrow  or  a  hill  sheep,1  and  a  child  may  play  with  a 
constable  as  men  handle  a  hybernating  cobra.  The  fat 
bum-as  are  no  more  seen  lolling  beneath  their  sharnee- 
anas  ;  the  Hindoo,  in  short,  is  "  occultated." 

In  the  shop  yonder, -where"  earthen  vessels  are  sold, — 
a  shilling  would  buy  the. whole  stock-in-trade, — with 
the  walls  festooned  with  chalky-surfaced  chillums,  the 
floor  piled  high  with  clay  pots,  sits  the  owner,  frozen  and 
voluminously  swathed.  He  is  not  proud  of  his  shop ; 
there  is  none  of  the  assumption  of  the  thriving  merchant 

1  A  flock  of  hill  sheep  will  meet  at  a  corner  of  the  zigzag  path 
a  burdened  pony,  and  the  leader  of  them  will  turn  aside.  Soon 
the  woolly  tribe  are  in  headlong  flight  down  the  steep  hillside,  and 
the  tattoo,  astonished  at  his  own  importance,  passes  on  in  sole 
possession  of  the  scanty  way. 


96  The  Indian  Seasons. 

about  him.  He  is  too  cold  to  concern  himself  about 
his  wares,  for  when  his  neighbors  want  pots  they  will, 
he  knows,  come  to  him  ;  if-  they  do  not  want  pots,  ad- 
vertisements and  invitations  are  thrown  away.  Shout- 
ing is  a  mere  waste  of  carbon.  So  he  spends  his 
mornings  perched  on  the  edge  of  his  threshold,  pol- 
ishing his  chattering  teeth  with  a  stick,  and  rinsing  his 
mouth  from  the  brass  lotah  beside  him.  In  the  next 
house  there  are  no  wares  to  sell,  but  in  the  centre,  on  a 
rag  of  carpet,  sits  a  puffy  man,  painting,  with  much  fa- 
cial contortion,  and  frequent  applications  of  his  numbed 
fingers  to  the  charcoal  burning  near  him,  the  face  of  a 
mud  monkey-god.  B}T  his  side  are  ranged  rows  of 
similar  monkey-gods  awaiting  their  turn  of  the  brush 
that  shall  tip  their  heads  with  scarlet  and  their  tails 
with  yellow.  Before  the  door  sits  a  careful  mother, 
scouring  her  daughter's  head  with  mud.  Here  two 
shivering  baboos,  shiny  with  patent  leather  as  to  their 
feet,  with  oil  as  to  their  heads,  and  with  many  folds  of 
a  gaudy  comforter  about  their  necks,  are  climbing  cau- 
tiously into  an  ekka,  a  pariah  dog  half  awake  watching 
the  operation  with  a  dubious  wagging  of  its  tail.  One 
and  all  are  extinguished,  suppressed,  occultated,  by  the 
cold. 

Christmas  Day  !     Can  this  be  really  Yule-tide  ? 

"  December  came  with  mirth  men  needs  must  make 
E'en  for  the  empty  days'  and  leisure's  sake." 

So  opens  the  Prologue  of  a  modern  poet's  story  of  how, 
in  those  olden  da}-s  wten  dolphins  knew  good  music 
when  the}-  heard  it,  and  love  it  was  that  made  the  world 
g6  round,  —  the  Strong  Man  came  down  to  the  Tyrian 
merchant-vessel  swinging  in  Mycenae  Bay,  and,  taking 


The  Cold  Weather.  97 

the  helm  himself  when  the  great  east  wind  began  to 
blow  its  fiercest,  steered  straight  for  the  island  where 
the  daughters  of  old  Hesperus  the  Wise  guarded  the  tree 
with  the  golden  fruit.  It  is  a  December  poem,  and  yet 
the  scene  of  it  is  laid  in  a  land  where  the  boughs  were 
blossomed  and  "unknown  flowers  bent  down  before 
their  feet ; "  where  there  were  the  lilies  of  spring  in 
the  grass,  the  fruit  of  autumn  on  the  trees,  and,  over 
all,  the  warm  light  of  a  summer  sun.  Well  for  the 
poet  that  his  song  was  of  olden  times !  The  reader  is 
content  in  his  December  tale  to  take  him  at  his  word, 
to  see  wade  off  from  the  shingle  the  man 

"  Who  had  a  lion's  skin  cast  over  him, 
So  wrought  with  gold  that  the  fell  show'd  but  dim 
Betwixt  the  threads." 

And  afterwards  to  see  him  at  the  foot  of  the  golden- 
fruited  tree,  in  the  land  of  roses  and  singing-birds, 
standing  where 

"  Three  damsels  stood  naked,  from  head  to  feet, 
Save  for  the  glory  of  their  hair." 

We  see  him  pick  the  red-gleaming  apples,  note  the 
branch    spring  back,  and  then    watch   him,    with   the 
round  fruit   in  his   hand,   go   down  across   the   lawn, 
dappled  with  flowers  and  fallen  fruit,  to  the  Tyrian  ship  • 
again. 

"  His  name  is  Hercules, 
And  e'en  ye  Asian  folk  have  heard  of  him." 

We  "  Asian  folk"  have  indeed  heard  of  a  land  where, 
by  some  pantomime  of  nature,  roses  are  winter  flowers 
and  fruit  ripen  in  December,  where  there  are  singing- 
birds  instead  of  old  cock-robins  and  turkeys,  and  where 

7 


98  Tlie  Indian  Seasons. 

the  damsels  of  the  land,  instead  of  nestling  in  chinchilla 
or  sable's  fur,  stand  about  in  a  rural  manner,  much  as  did 
the  Hesperids.  We  know  too  that  in  that  land  there 
was  once  a  magic  tree  with  golden  pagoda  coin  for  fruit, 
which  strong  men,  coming  across  the  sea  in  ships  of 
trade,  shook  at  will.  But  vegetables  are  not  auriferous 
now.  The  Golden  Pippin  is  a  species  of  apple  un- 
happily extinct,  and  Sir  Epicure  Mammon  was  not  far 
from  the  mark  when  he  lumped  Jason's  Fleece,  Jove's 
Shower,  and  the  Hesperian  Garden  as  "all  abstract 
riddles  of  the  philosopher's  stone." 

But  though  the  tree  is  gone,  the  country  is  much  what 
it  was  in  the  Genesis  of  Anglo-India  —  the  antediluvian 
period  that  preceded  the  Mutiny  of  1857.  It  is  still  a 
land  of  juggling  seasons.  December  comes  round  as 
usual,  and  with  it  Christmas  Day  and  its  marigolds  ;  and 
men,  having  no  work  to  do,  — 

"  Mirth  needs  must  make 
E'en  for  the  empty  days'  and  leisure's  sake." 

I  have  spent  Christmas  in  England,  and  there  was 
honest  merriment  enough.  And  on  the  doorstep  with- 
out, birds  and  beggars  alike  shared  in  the  sudden  flow 
of  Christmas  goodwill. 

I  have  also  spent  Christmas  Day  in  India,  but  not  all 
the  marigolds  of  Cathay  will  firk  up  Christmas  spirits,  or 
make  me  throw  crumbs  to  a  blue-jay.  The  blue-ja}- 
would  not  eat  them  in  the  first  place,  for  there  are 
plenty  of  flying  things  abroad  for  him  to  eat.  But  even 
if  that  unpleasant  bird,  with  its  very  un-Christmas 
plumage  of  sunny  blue,  were  to  turn  frugivorous  for  the 
nonce  to  humor  me,  since  "  Christmas  comes  but  once 
a  year,"  I  would  not  feed  him.  I  have  no  Yule-tide 


Tlie  Cold  Weather.  99 

humor  about  me,  for  there  is  no  Christmas  around  me. 
The  jests  of  nature  are  too  long  in  the  telling  to  be 
mirthful.  The  crops  have  been  }'ellow  with  mustard 
blossom  this  week  past,  the  gardens  in  all  their  glory 
for  many  weeks ;  and  how,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  simply 
because  it  is  the  25th  of  December,  can  I  feel  more  at 
peace  with  all  men  than  I  did  last  Thursday  ?  If  Nature 
would  only  meet  me  half  way,  or  even  the  robins  of  the 
country  wear  red  waistcoats  instead  of  red  seats  to 
their  trousers,  I  would  try  and  squeeze  some  seasonable 
festivity  into  my  thoughts.  But  it  is  out  of  the  question. 
Wh}' !  there  is  at  this  moment  a  punkah-puller  outside 
the  tent  talking  about  the  affairs  of  the  hot  weather, 
and  dunning  my  servant  for  four  annas  to  which  he  pre- 
fers a  forged  claim.  He  was  always  interesting,  that 
coolie.  The}*  are  a  feeble  folk,  the  most  of  them,  — the 
coneys  amongst  mankind,  —  and  the  intelligent  are  in 
a  desperate  minority.  Look  around  at  the  crowds  of 
coolies  whose  life  is  a  long  yarn  of  gra}*  toil,  crossed  at 
intervals  with  tawdry  threads  of  lazy,  worthless  self-in- 
dulgence. Of  "  remembrance  fallen  from  heaven  "  they 
have  none.  When  the  high  gods  sat  down  to  fashion 
them,  the\*  must  —  to  turn  the  poet's  words  —  have 
wrought  with  more  weeping  than  laughter,  more  loath- 
ing than  love.  Swinburne  has  said  that  the}'  gave  them 
also  life  enough,  perhaps,  to  make  the  bitterness  of 
humanity  keen  to  them ;  and  that  they  gave  them 
light  enough  to  illustrate  the  deadliness  of  all  life's 
pleasures,  and  to  show  them  the  wa}'  to  their  graves. 
They  have  limbs  and  a  shadow,  and  yet  I  doubt  if 
poor  Peter  Schlemil  would  have  exchanged  his  be- 
devilled existence  for  theirs.  The  flight  of  time  they 
congratulate  themselves  upon ;  and  nobilit}*  of  deed  or 


100  The  Indian  Seasons. 

speech  in  a  finer  race  does  not  affect  the  level  of  their 
minds,  for  they  cannot  even  think  splendidly. 

But  this  peculiar  coolie  of  mine  was  an  interesting 
stud}',  for  he  owned  a  cow.  How  he  got  it  I  cannot 
guess,  for  he  did  not  look  like  a  person  with  rich  rela- 
tives to  remember  him  in  a  will ;  and  with  his  own 
money  he  could  not  have  bought  it.  Nor  could  he 
have  stolen  it,  for  his  legal  ownership  was  ostentatiously 
displayed  at  all  hours.  Yet  it  was  not  a  cow  to  be  very 
proud  of.  It  was  not  a  big  cow,  and  gave  no  milk. 
Nor  did  it  drag  anything  about  it  —  a  cart  or  vehicle 
of  an}*  kind.  But  it  was  very  cheerful.  It  played  bo- 
peep  with  my  terrier  between  the  pillars  of  the  porch, 
and  from  pure  light-hearteduess  used  to  scour  about  the 
compound,  with  its  tail,  from  an  ecstasy  of  inirthfulness, 
curled  up  into  a  knot  on  its  back.  It  trotted  about  a 
good  deal  iu  the  mornings  ;  and  when  its  owner  was  not 
pulling  my  punkah,  he  was  generally  running  about 
slowly  and  indefinitely  after  it.  The  cow  always  went 
much  faster  than  the  coolie,  for  I  never  saw  him  catch 
it  except  when  it  was  standing  still ;  and  when  he  came 
up  with  it  he  never  seemed  to  know  what  he  should  do 
next.  He  used  to  pull  it  about  in  a  possessive  manner, 
and  jerk  its  rope  as  if  he  wished  it  to  move  —  first  in  the 
direction  of  the  compound  gate,  and  the  cow  would 
cheerfully  trot  alongside  of  him  ;  but  on  a  sudden  there 
would  be  a  violent  jerk,  and  the  cow  would  find  the 
coolie  pulling  in  the  opposite  direction,  whither  it  would, 
without  demur,  follow  him.  Whatever  the  change  of 
programme,  the  cow  acquiesced  in  it  with  the  utmost 
heartiness  ;  and  thus,  after  having  blithely  proceeded  a 
little  in  each  direction,  it  generally  found  itself  pretty 
much  where  it  started  from.  The  coolie  would  then 


The  Cold  Weather.  101 

carefully  tether  his  property  to  the  largest  weed  that  was 
near,  the  cow  looking  on  at  the  elaborate  process  with 
a  contemplative  aspect ;  after  which,  the  coolie  having 
turned  to  go,  it  would  eat  the  weed  up,  and  gaily  ac- 
company its  master  towards  the  verandah.  The  cow 
was  quite  useless  to  the  coolie,  and  he  could  not  demon- 
strate his  ownership  by  doing  anything  with  it.  So  he 
would  sometimes  throw  stones  at  it  — just  to  show  that 
the  cow  was  his.  It  was  all  pride,  the  pride  of  owner- 
ship ;  and  though  the  cow  cost  him  at  least  threepence 
a  week,  for  it  was  regularly  impounded  for  frolicsome 
trespass,  he  never  parted  with  it.  But  I  was  obliged  to 
part  with  the  coolie  ;  for  one  day,  the  wind  being  high,  — 
the  Scythians  said  wind  was  the  principle  of  life,  —  the 
cow  was  unusually  lively ,  and,  after  a  preliminar}*  canter 
round  the  garden  with  the  terrier,  it  proceeded,  in  spite 
of  the  gardener,  to  execute  a  fantastic  but  violent  pas 
seul  upon  a  croquet  ground  which  was  in  course  of  con- 
struction. I  felt,  therefore,  compelled  to  ask  the  coolie 
to  take  his  cow  away  and  not  to  bring  it  back  again. 
Nor  did  he  ;  for  he  never  came  back  himself —  not,  at 
any  rate,  until  the  punkahs  had  been  put  away  in  the 
lumber-room,  and  the  tatties  were  gone,  whereVer  old 
tatties  go.  His  cow,  I  think,  must  be  dead  now,  for  he 
seems  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  loaf  about  with  my 
camp,  waiting  for  me  to  pay  him  the  four  annas  of 
wages  which  he  tries  to  prove  is  due  to  him. 

Now,  what  a  strange  thing  human  nature  is  !  Here  I 
have  been  protesting  for  the  last  hour  that  I  had  no 
Christmas  foolery  left  in  me ;  and  yet  I  have  this 
moment  paid  that  punkah-coolie  the  four  annas  he  has 
no  claim  to  —  and  which,  on  principle,  as  I  have  told  my 


102       .  The  Indian  Seasons. 

wife  every  day  for  the  last  month,  I  have  refused  for 
two  months  to  pay  him  — just  because  it  was  Christmas 
Day  !  To  increase  the  absurdity,  I  had  to  confess  the 
reason  to  him !  For  having  sworn  solemnly  on  all  the 
rules  of  arithmetic  that  I  did  not  owe  him  one  farthing, 
1  was  obliged  to  give  a  decent  explanation  for  my  sud- 
den acknowledgment  of  the  debt ;  and  how  could  I, 
before  my  servants,  better  maintain  my  dignity,  and  at 
the  same  time  get  rid  of  an  importunate  coolie,  than  by 
making  him  a  present  of  his  extortionate  demand  in 
full,  because  it  was  a  "  Feast  day  with  us  Christians." 

For  yet  another  Christmas,  then,  have  I  kept  alive  a 
Yule  spark ! 

I  look  up  at  the  poem  lying  open  before  me,  and  with 
a  fateful  response,  that  may  compare  with  the  unhappy 
King's  Virgilii  Sortes,  the  book  replies  — 

"  Cast  no  least  thing  thou  lovedst  once  away, 
Since  yet  perchance  thine  eyes  shall  see  the  day." 

Perchance,  indeed,  we  shall  all  see  another  Christmas 
Day  "  at  home,"  and  among  romping  children  and  wel- 
coming friends  rekindle  the  smouldering  Yule  spark 
into  an  honest  English  Christmas  blaze. 


PART    III. 
UNNATURAL    HISTOKY. 


PART   III. 
UNNATURAL    HISTORY. 

I. 

MONKEYS   AND  METAPHYSICS. 

Monkeys  are  Metaphysics. —  How  they  found  Seeta. —  Yet  they 
are  not  Proud.  —  Their  Sad-Facedness.  —  Decayed  Divinities. 
—  As  Gods  in  Egypt.  —  From  Grave  to  Gay.  —  What  do  the 
Apes  think  of  us? — The  Etiquette  of  Scratching.  —  "The 
New  Boy  "  of  the  Monkey-House.  —  They  take  Notes  of  us.  — 
Man-Ape  Puzzles  :  —  The  Soko.  —  Missing  Links. 

MONKEYS  "are   metaphysics,  and  it  is  no  idle 
work  meditating  among  them. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  an  objective  difficulty, 
for  the  monkeys  themselves  seem  possessed  by  a  demon 
of  unrest,  and  are  perpetually  in  kaleidoscopic  motion. 
The  individual  that  was  here  when  you  began  to  take  a 
note  is  nowhere  when  you  have  finished.  In  the  inter- 
val it  has  probably  turned  a  dozen  somersaults  on  as 
many  different  perches,  taken  a  swing  on  the  trapeze, 
pulled  all  the  tails  it  found  hanging  about,  and  is  now 
busy  scratching  a  small  friend  up  in  the  roof.  In  the 
next  place,  there  is  a  subjective  difficulty,  for  in  think- 
ing about  monkeys  the  mind  cannot  relax  itself  as  it 
would  in  thinking  about  cats  or  parrots,  nor  get  into 
undress  over  it  as  it  might  over  a  more  trifling  subject. 


106  Unnatural  History. 

A  monkey  suggests  something  more  than  matter.  There 
is  a  suspicion  of  mind  about  the  creature  that  prevents 
one  thinking  idly,  and  all  its  problems  seem  somehow  or 
another  to  resolve  themselves  into  human  questions  of 
psj^chology  or  ethics.  Many  of  their  actions  require  a 
rational  explanation,  and,  though  each  one  may  be  turned 
off  with  a  laugh,  the  gravity  of  the  monkey  will  tell  in 
the  long-run,  and  the  looker-on  will  find  himself  at  last 
speculating  as  to  whether  and  if,  and  hesitating  as  to 
the  neuter  genders  of  pronouns  being  proper  to  be  used 
when  speaking  of  monkeys.  Fortunately  for  us  the  mon- 
key is  not  proud.  He  has  no  reserve  whatever,  and 
betrays  by  his  candor  much  that,  if  he  were  more  reti- 
cent, would  puzzle  human  beings  beyond  endurance. 
But  the  monkey  makes  us  free  of  the  whole  of  him,  and 
conceals  nothing.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  monkey 
remains  a  conundrum  to  human  beings ;  and  the  more 
one  thinks  about  him  the  less  one  feels  sure  of  under- 
standing. 

If  pedigree  and  lofty  traditions  could  make  any 
creatures  proud,  surely  the  monkeys  should  be  proud, 
for  their  historj-  runs  back  without  a  fault  to  the  heroic 
times  when  their  ancestors,  living  in  the  very  hills  which 
the  monkey-folk  still  haunt,  were  the  allies  of  the  gods, 
and  their  chiefs  were  actually  gods  themselves. 

The  story  goes — it  is  one  of  the  oldest  stories  ever  told 
—  that  when  Seeta,  the  lady  of  the  lotus  eyes,  the  wife 
of  Rama,  had  been  carried  away  to  Ceylon  by  Havana, 
the  black  Raja  of  the  Demons,  her  husband  went  out 
from  the  jungles  of  Pandaka  to  ask  help  of  the  Vulture 
King.  This  was  Jatayus,  the  son  of  that  Garucla 
the  quills  of  whose  feathers  were  like  palm-tree  trunks, 
and  the  shadow  of  his  flying  overhead  like  the  passing 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  107 

of  a  thunder-cloud  in  the  month  of  the  rains.  But  the 
Demons  had  alread}r  killed  the  princely  bird  because 
Jatayus  had  tried  to  stop  them  from  carrying  Seeta  away  ; 
so  Rama,  having  lit  the  funeral  pyre  for  his  friend,  went 
on  farther,  to  ask  the  help  of  one  who  was  even  more 
powerful  than  the  Vulture  King.  This  was  Hanuman, 
the  son  of  Vargu,  the  chief  of  all  the  monkey  nations, 
who  held  his  court  upon  the  mountain  peaks  by  the 
Pampas  Lake.  And  the  sentinel  apes,  sitting  on  the 
topmost  rocks,  saw  Rama  approaching,  and  recognized 
him,  and  Hanuman  himself  came  down  towards  him 
reverently,  stepping  from  ridge  to  ridge,  and  led  the  hero 
up  to  the  council-peaks,  and  called  all  the  princes  of  the 
four-handed  folk  together  to  give  him  their  advice. 
Hanuman  himself  sat  apart  upon  a  peak  alone,  for  there 
was  not  room  enough  on  one  mountain  top  for  both  him 
and  the  rest,  for  to  the  council  had  come  all  the  greatest 
monkey  warriors.  Varana,  the  white  ape,  was  there, 
resting  at  full  length  upon  a  ridge,  and  looking  like  a 
snow-drift  that  rests  upon  the  Himalaj'as  ;  and  there  too 
was  Arundha  of  the  portentous  tail,  with  the  strength 
of  a  whole  herd  of  elephants  in  each  of  his  hair}r  arms  ; 
and  there  too  Darvindha,  that  matchless  baboon.  And 
after  long  council  it  was  decided  that  the  monkey  nation 
should  be  divided  into  four  armies,  and  that  each  army 
should  search  a  quarter  of  the  universe.  The  southern 
quarter  fell  to  Hanuman,  and  he  linked  his  warriors 
together  in  long  lines  and  the}'  searched  the  whole  south 
before  them,  examining  the  ravines  among  the  mountains 
and  the  creeks  along  the  seashores  as  narrowly  as  the 
ants  search  the  crevices  of  the  bark  in  the  neem-trees  ; 
but  night  came  on  and  the}-  had  not  found  Seeta.  So 
she  must  be  beyond  the  Black  Water,  the  monkeys  said, 


108  .  Unnatural  History. 

as  they  stood  at  the  end  of  the  land,  looking  about  them 
across  the  sea'for  other  countries.  And  when  the  day 
broke  they  saw  a  cloud  lying  upon  the  sea,  and  told 
Hanuman,  but  as  soon  as  he  saw  it  the  sagacious  son  of 
Vargu  said,  "  It  is  an  island,"  and,  stepping  back  a  few 
paces,  he  ran  and  jumped,  right  away  from  India  and 
across  the  straits  into  the  Island  of  Ce3-lon.  There  he 
found  Seeta  shut  up  in  a  garden,  and  went  back  and  told 
Rama.  And  then  the  old  story  goes  on  to  say  how  Nala, 
the  monkey-wizard,  made  stones  float  upon  the  sea  for  a 
bridge  ;  and  how  Jambuvat,  the  king  of  the  shaggy  bears, 
led  his  people'  down  from  the  hills  to  help  the  monkeys  ; 
and  how  the  whole  host  crossed  over  to  Ceylon  and 
fought  for  many  days  with  the  Demons,  and  were 
alwa}rs  beaten  till  Sushena,  the  wisest  of  all  the  apes,  sent 
Hanuman  back  to  the  Himalayas  for  the  mystical  Herb 
of  Life,  and  with  it  called  back  all  the  souls  of  the  dead 
monkey  warriors ;  and  how  even  then  they  could  not 
conquer  Indrajit,  the  mighty  son  of  Havana.  At  last  the 
gods  took  part  with  Rama  against  the  Demons.  Vishnu 
lent  him  his  chariot  and  Brahma  gave  him  his  quiver, 
and  then,  after  a  terrible  fight,  the  steed  of  Indrajit  went 
back  riderless  into  the  city,  and  Ravana,  seeing  his  son 
was  dead,  came  out  himself  to  lead  his  hosts,  bursting 
from  the  city  gates  as  fire  bursts  from  the  peaks  of  the 
islands  in  the  Eastern  Sea,  and  slew  one  by  one  all  the 
monkey  chiefs,  and  last  of  them  all  slew  Hanuman  him- 
self. Then  Rama,  the  husband  of  Seeta,  stood  up  in 
his  chariot  before  Ravana,  and  would  neither  die  nor 
move,  and  the  Demon  King  at  last  grew  faint  with  fight- 
ing, and  turned  towards  the  city,  but  the  monkeys  had 
set  it  on  fire  ;  and  when  he  saw  the  smoke  ascending, 
Ravana  turned  again  in  his  despair,  and  sent  his  chariot 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  109 

forward  with  the  crash  of  a  thunderbolt  against  Rama. 
But  Rama  was  immovable,  and,  standing  upright  among 
the  dead,  he  loosed  a  great  bolt,  and  Havana's  soul  fled 
to  Yama,  where  it  floats  in  the  River  of  the  Dead. 
Then  the  monkeys  destroyed  the  city  of  the  Demons, 
and  escorted  Rama  back  to  India ;  and  Sushena,  the 
magician  ape,  made  the  stone  bridge  sink  again  ;  and 
Rama  went  back  again  with  his  wife  to  Ayodhya,  and  the 
monkey  people  back  to  their  merry  hills  by  the  Pampas 
Lake. 

This  is  surely  a  splendid  episode  in  the  history  of 
a  people ;  and  the  monkeys  of  to-day  are  the  lineal  de- 
scendants of  those  very  monkeys  that  fought  for  Rama. 
There  is  no  gap  in  the  long  descent,  and  to-da}r  the 
inheritors  of  Hanuman's  fame  inherit  also  his  sanctity, 
sharing  in  the  East  the  abodes  and  property  of  men,  and 
possessing  besides  man}'  temples  of  their  own. 

Yet  the  monkeys  are  not  proud.  The}-  will  con- 
descend quite  cheerfully  to  eat  the  Hindoo's  humble 
stores  of  grain  and  fruit  put  out  for  sale  on  the  village 
stall ;  and  when  these  fail,  in  consequence  perhaps  of  the 
grain-dealer's  miserly  interference,  they  will  fall  to  with 
an  appetite  upon  the  wild  berries  and  green  shoots  of 
the  jungle,  or  even  pick  a  light  luncheon  off  an  ant-hill. 
No,  there  is  no  pride  about  them,  but  much  gravity  and 
sadness  of  face,  induced,  perhaps,  by  the  recollection  of 
their  classical  glories  and  a  consciousness  of  the  present 
decadence  of  their  race. 

The  ape  in  .2Esop  wept  copiously  on  passing  through 
a  cemetery.  "What  ails  you,  my  friend?"  asked  the 
fox,  affected  by  this  display  of  grief.  "  Oh,  nothing," 
was  the  reply  of  the  sensitive  creature,  "  but  I  always 
weep  like  this  when  I  am  reminded  of  my  poor  dead 
ancestors !  " 


110  Unnatural  History. 

Such  susceptibility  to  grief  is  honorable,  but  in  the 
monkej's,  by  constant  indulgence,  it  has  stereotyped  a 
tearful  expression  of  countenance,  which  even  when  at 
play  is  never  altogether  lost.  Take  them,  for  instance, 
when,  in  fun,  they  have  tied  themselves  into  a  knot,  and 
pretend  that  they  cannot  undo  themselves.  But  look 
at  the  faces  that  peep  out  of  the  bundle  of  tails  and 
paws !  They  might  belong  to  orphans  of  an  hour's 
standing,  so  wistful  and  disconsolate  are  their  e}-es. 
Another  one,  peeling  an  orange,  gazes  on  it  with  a  look 
of  such  immeasurable  grief  as  the  Douglas's  features 
might  have  showed  when  holding  the  Bruce's  heart  in 
his  hand ;  and  next  to  him  sits  an  ape,  sorrowfully 
cuffing  a  youngster ;  while  overhead,  surveying  all  the 
heedless  throng,  sits  an  old  baboon,  with  a  profound 
expression  of  melancholy  pity  on  his  reverend  counte- 
nance, that  recalls  to  my  mind  a  Sunda}*  picture-book  of 
my  early  youth,  and,  as  depicted  therein,  the  aspect  of 
Moses,  when,  from  a  mountain  top,  he  sacll}*  over- 
looked the  Hebrews  dancing  round  the  golden  calves. 

Hauuman  himself,  saddest  of  monkeys,  may  himself 
be  here,  for  his  species  is  a  common  one  :  and  so  too 
others  of  high  renown.  Here,  looking  wofully  among 
the  straw  for  a  fallen  nut,- sits  the  very  god  of  "mad 
Egypt,"  the  green  monkey  of  Ethiopia,  which  was  held 
in  such  reverence  in  old  Memphis  as  the  type  of  the 
God  of  Letters,  or  as  Thoth  himself,  the  emblem  of  the 
moon,  symbol  of  the  Bacchus  of  the  Nile,  and  dignify- 
ing the  obelisks  of  Luxor  and  the  central  sanctity  of  a 
hundred  shrines.  Yonder,  musing  pensively  over  a 
paper  bag,  still  redolent  of  the  gingerbread  it  once  con- 
tained, sits  Pthah,  the  pigmy  baboon,  the  God  of 
Learning,  without  whom  Hermopolis  would  have  been 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  Ill 

desolate,  at  once  the  genius  of  life  and  the  holder  of  the 
dreadful  scales  after  death,  more  potent  than  the  ibis, 
and  guardian  of  all  the  approaches  to  hundred-gated 
Thebes.  A  reverend  pair,  truly,  and  sadly  come  down 
in  the  world. 

Do  they  know  it?  It  is  hard  to  say.  They  inherited 
their  sad  faces,  no  doubt,  from  some  sad-faced  pro- 
genitor ;  but  how  came  he  —  the  primitive  ape  —  by  so 
mournful  a  countenance  ?  Did  some  tremendous  catas- 
trophe in  the  beginning  of  time  overtake  the  four- 
handed  folk,  — so  terrible  in  its  ruin,  that  the  sorrow  of 
the  survivors  was  impressed  forever  upon  their  features 
and  transmitted  by  them  to  their  kind?  Everything,  we 
are  told,  is  inherited.  The  farmyard  goats,  when  doing 
nothing  else,  still  perch  themselves  on  the  highest  point 
of  the  bank  they  can  find,  or  on  the  wall,  because  their 
wild  ancestors  used  once  upon  a  time  to  stand  on  the  hill 
peaks,  as  sentinels  for  the  herd,  to  watch  for  the  hunter 
and  the  eagle  and  the  lynx.  The  dog  still  turns  himself 
round  before  going  to  sleep,  because  in  the  old  wolf 
days  his  progenitors,  before  they  lay  down,  cautiously « 
took  one  last  look  all  round  them.  Is  there,  then,  any 
reason  in  the  far  past  for  the  melancholy  demeanor  of 
the  monkej-s  of  the  present? 

Perhaps  they  still  remember  the  Flood  with  personal 
regret. 

It  is  impossible  to  speak  with  disrespect  of  animals 
having  such  antecedents ;  and,  besides,  this  monkey  be- 
fore you  knows  perhaps  a  secret  that  science  cannot  find 
out  —  the  secret  of  the  Sources  of  the  Nile.  As  he 
passes  by,  a  tail  hanging  down  from  the  perch  above 
him  attracts  his  notice,  and  pulling  it,  he  brings  down 
upon  himself  a  monkey  smaller  than  itself,  which  had 


112  Unnatural  History. 

thought  itself  concealed,  but  had  forgotten  its  depend- 
ent tail.  The  tiny  creature  is  to-da}-  "  the  new  boy  " 
of  the  school,  and,  as  yet,  has  found  his  comrades  rude 
and  unsympathetic. 

They  ask  his  sisters'  names,  and  where  he  came  from, 
how  old  he  is,  and  what  he  can  do ;  and  whatever  his 
answer  may  be,  the  rejoinder  is  much  the  same,  either  a 
pinch  or  a  push,  a  tug  at  his  tail,  or  a  box  on  the  ear. 
So,  as  the  keeper  sa3-s,  "  whenever  he  sees  one  coming 
towards  him  he  just  sits  down  and  hollers  ;  but  he'll  get 
used  to  it.  They  all  hollers  a  bit  at  first." 

But  the  grivet  after  all  is  only  going  to  scratch  the 
capuchin,  in  a  sociable  sort  of  way,  for  they  are- most  of 
them  sociable,  and  a  pleasing  community  of  fur  obtains 
amopg  them. 

But  you  must  not  watch  a  monkey  too  long  at  a  time, 
or  it  will  be  certain  to  abuse  your  curiosity  by  flippant 
conduct,  and  the  illusion  of  respectability  will  be  at  once 
destroyed.  Turn  for  a  moment  to  any  family  of  mon- 
keys, and  for  a  time  nothing  can  be  more  becoming  than 
.their  behavior.  The  young  ones  romp,  while  the  old 
one,  discountenancing  such  frivolit}-,  sits  severely  on  a 
perch,  turning  every  now  and  then  to  look  out  wistfully 
over  the  spectators'  heads  at  the  bright  sun  shining  out  of 
doors.  But  on  a  sudden  a  change  comes  over  the  scene. 
A  young  one,  grovelling  under  the  straw,  forgets  that  it 
has  left  its- tail  protruding,  and  the  temptation  is  greater 
than  the  old  one  can  resist.  In  a  twinkling  the  challenge 
to  a  romp  is  accepted ;  and  lo !  while  the  senior  makes 
a  fool  of  himself  among  the  straw  with  one  of  the 
children,  the  other  child  is  on  his  perch,  looking  just  as 
grave  as  he  did,  and  gazing  at  intervals  in  the  same 
wistful  way  out  into  the  open  air.  The  old  monkey, 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  113 

latehr  so  solemn,  so  respectable,  so  care-worn,  has  sud- 
denly resolved  itself  into  an  irresponsible  fool,  commit- 
ting itself  to  every  possible  absurdity,  and  subjected  to 
the  irreverent  liberties  of  its  juniors.  Those  who  do 
not  respect  themselves  cannot,  of  course,  look  for  re- 
spect from  others  ;  but,  from  the  elder  monke}-^  attitude 
when  we  first  approached  it,  such  a  complete  abandon- 
ment to  buffoonery  was  hardly  to  be  expected. 

Or,  take  again  some  austere-looking  monkey  in  soli- 
taiy  confinement.  She  has  apparently  no  temptations 
to  romp,  for  she  has  no  comrades;  but  here  again  the 
same  deplorable  disregard  of  appearances  occurs.  Her 
cage  is  lined  with  straw,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  straw 
she  sits,  as  composed  as  a  mummy,  and  with  a  face 
like  an  old  Mussulman  moulvie.  Surely,  the  crack  of 
doom  itself  could  not  disturb  such  serene  equanimity. 
The  thought,  however,  is  hardly  past  before  the  monkey, 
with  a  velocit}-  that  suggests  an  explosion  from  below, 
springs  to  the  roof,  carrying  with  her  as  much  of  the  bed 
as  her  four  hands  can  hold,  and  in  the  next  instant  is 
clown  again  and  spinning  round  and  round  on  the  bare 
floor  in  pursuit  of  her  own  tail,  while  the  straw  comes 
straggling  down  upon  her  silly  old  head  from  the  perch 
above.  The  creature  has  suddenly,  to  all  appearance, 
become  a  hopeless  idiot ! 

It  is  just  the  same  in  the  next  cage,  and  the  next, 
and  the  next.  Intervals  of  profound  contemplation  and 
admirable  gravit}'  alternate  with  fits  of  irrelevant  frivol- 
ity ;  and  it  is  just  these  extraordinaiy  alternations  of 
conduct  and  demeanor  that  make  monkeys  metaphj-sics. 
There  is  no  arguing  from  probabilities  with  them,  or 
concluding  from  premises.  It  is  always  the  unforeseen 
that  occurs. 

8 


114  Unnatural  History. 

Perhaps  they  may  have  a  lingua  franca  among  them- 
selves, but  against  man  they  conspire  together  to  be 
dumb ;  provoking  him  to  speculation  by  imitating  hu- 
man manners,  and  then  frustrating  all  his  conclusions 
by  suddenly  lapsing  —  into  monkeys. 

It  is  difficult  enough  to  catch  a  monkey's  eye,  but  to 
catch  one  of  its  ideas  is  impossible.  Neither  in  look 
nor  in  mind  will  it  positively  confront  man,  but  just  as 
it  lets  its  eye  pass  over  his,  yet  never  rest  upon  it  full, 
so  its  "  mind"  glances  to  one  side  or  the  other  of  the 
human  intelligence,  but  never  coincides  with  it.1  It  may 
be  that  they  were  once  all  human,  that  the  link  still 
exists,  and  that  in  time  all  will  be  human  again ;  but 
meanwhile  it  is  quite  certain  that  race  after  race  is  be- 
coming extinct,  and  that  as  yet  no  single  individual  in 
all  the  "  wilderness  of  monkeys"  is  quite  a  man. 

Stanley  the  traveller  has  told  us  that  sometimes  when 
he  entered  an  African  boma,  intending  to  take  notes  of 
the  strange  beings  who  lived  in  it,  and  their  odd  appear- 
ance and  eccentric  wa}'s,  he  was  greatly  disconcerted  to 
find  that  he  himself,  and  not  the  natives,  was  considered 
singular  in  that  part  of  the  world.  They,  the  savages, 
were  ordinary,  every-da}T  folk  ;  but  he,  their  discoverer, 
was  a  curious  novelty,  that  deserved,  in  their  opinion, 
to  be  better  known  than  he  was.  So  the  majority  turned 
the  tables  on  the  explorer ;  for  while  they  were  all  of  one 
orthodox}7,  in  looks,  habits,  and  language,  the  stranger 
appeared  to  them  a  ridiculous  exception.  He  had  not 
a  single  precedent  to  cite,  or  example  to  appeal  to,  in 

1  For  an  admirably  sympathetic  sketch  of  monkey  character  — 
and  much  more  besides  —  read  Miss  Frances  Power  Cobbe's  de- 
lightful book,  "  False  Beasts  and  True." 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  115 

justification  of  the  preposterous  color  of  his  skin,  the 
ludicrous  clothing  he  wore,  or  his  queer  ways.  In  the 
middle  of  Africa  he  found  himself  a  natural  solecism, 
a  "  sport,"  as  botanists  say,  from  the  normal  type,  —  a 
lusus  naturae,  an  interesting  monstrosity. 

The  savages,  therefore,  would  solemnly  proceed  to 
discover  Stanle}*,  and  after  deliberate  examination  pro- 
nounce him,  in  Brobdiugnagian  phrase,  to  be  simply  a 
relplum  sakath  —  something,  in  fact,  which  they  could 
not  understand,  but  which  they  considered  very  absurd. 
Meanwhile,  what  with  taking  his  clothes  off  and  put- 
ting them  on  again  to  please  his  explorers,  and  beating 
up  the  various  articles  of  property,  socks  and  so  forth, 
which  different  households  had  appropriated  as  curiosi- 
ties, the  traveller  found  his  time  so  fully  occupied  that 
his  notes  of  the  o£her  manners  and  customs  of  the  na- 
tives were  often  of  the  briefest  description,  and  he  had 
to  go  on  his  way,  considerably  out  of  countenance  at 
finding  that,  while  he  thought  he  was  discovering  Cen- 
tral Africa,  the  Central  Africans  were  really  discover- 
ing him.  . 

Something  of  the  same  feeling  grows  upon  the  ob- 
server after  a  morning  with  monkeys.  We,  on  the  one 
hand,  remark  the  pensive  demeanor  of  the  four-handed 
folk,  and  sympathize  with  the  unknown  causes  of  their 
melancholy,  —  are  amused  by  their  irrational  outbreaks 
of  frivolity,  and  scandalized  b_y  their  sudden  relapses 
from  an  almost  superhuman  gravity  and  self-respect 
into  monkey  indecorum  and  candor.  But  while  we  are 
watching  one  of  them  it  suddenly  occurs  to  us  that  we 
ourselves  are  being  watched  by  the  rest,  and  that  as  we 
take  notes  of  the  monkej-s  so  the}'  take  notes  of  us. 

They,  no  doubt,  remark  that  our  faces  are  usually 


116  Unnatural  History. 

characterized  by  a  senseless  smile,  and,  full  of  lofty  pity 
for  us,  wonder  at  creatures  that  can  thus  pass  their 
days  in  causeless  niirth,  and  differ  so  much  in  their  fur 
and  feathers  that  it  is  nothing  short  of  a  marvel  that 
they  ever  distinguish  each  other's  species.  While  we, 
the  spectators,  are  moralizing  over  the  divine  honors  of 
the  ape  in  the  Past,  and  his  fallen  state,  the  ape  of  the 
Present  sits  puzzling  over  the  man  of  the  Future.  Some 
of  the  types  which  he  sees  round  his  cage  are  so  like 
his  own  that  he  seems  to  make  an  involuntary  gesture 
of  recognition,  but  his  relative  has  gone  by  before  he 
has-  been  able  to  explain  himself;  so  he  retires  again 
into  contemplation,  regretting  his  lost  opportunity,  but 
content  to  wait  patiently  till,  as  he  says,  "  some  more 
of  my  sort  happen  to  come  round." 

While  we  outside  are  noting  the  unformed  heel,  the 
leg  without  a  calf,  the  lines  of  the  skeleton  that  prevent 
an  erect  attitude,  they  within  have  observed  that  human 
beings  cannot  run  up  the  wire  netting,  or  swing  by  their 
tails  on  the  railings ;  that  they  have  no  flea-hunting  to 
relieve  the  tedium  of  life,  and  that  when  a.  child  wishes 
to  took  over  any  obstacle  its  parents  have  to  hold  it 
aloft  to  do  so,  as  the  poor  little  thing  cannot  scamper 
up  a  pole.  While  we  are  commiserating  the  monkeys 
on  their  narrow  escape  from  human  intelligence,  the 
monkeys  are  wondering  how  long  it  will  be  before  men 
grow  wise  enough  to  use  their  tails  instead  of  hiding 
them,  and  see  the  folly  of  keeping  two  of  their  hands  in 
boots. 

We  surmise  enough  about  their  antecedents  to  feel 
misgivings  as  to  relationship,  but  do  you  really  suppose 
that  thejse  creatures  with  the  thoughtful  eyes  think 
nothing?  They  look  at  you  quite  as  keenly  as  you  at 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  117 

thorn,  whenever  you  happen  to  turn  your  head  aside ; 
and  if  you  suddenly  surprise  them  in  their  scrutiny  they 
shift  their  glance  at  once  with  affected  indifference  but 
extraordinary  rapidity,  and  subside  into  a  studied 
carelessness,  —  the  perfection  of  acting,  it  is  true,  but 
nevertheless  so  palpably  assumed  that  it  fills  }-ou  with  un- 
canny suspicions.  Again  and  again  the  experiment  11^3* 
be  tried,  and  every  time  with  the  same  result  —  the  swift 
withdrawal  of  that  furtive  searching  gaze,  and  the  utter 
collapse  into  vacuous  but  sinister  complacenc}'.  By 
perseverance  you  can  pursue  the  monkey,  so  it  seems, 
through  a  rsgular  series  of  human  thoughts,  stare-  it 
out  of  countenance,  make  it  ashamed  of  its  stealthy 
scrutiny,  and  feel  uncomfortable  and  conscious ;  you 
can  even  make  it  get  up  and  go  away,  further, and 
further  and  further,  drive  it  from  one  untenable  subter- 
fuge to  another,  till  at  last  it  loses  its  temper  at  3*011  r 
relentless  pursuit  of  its  inner  thoughts,  and,  jumping  on 
to  a  perch,  tries  to  shake  the  cage  about  3"our  ears, 
chattering  furiously  and  showing  all  its  teeth.  Does 
such  a  creature  as  this  never  retaliate  in  its  medita- 
tions upon  men  and  women,  or  find  amusement  in  our 
proceedings? 

In  time  the  smaller  one  is  soothed,  and  lies  down  so 
flat  that  it  looks  at  last  like  a  monkey-skin  stretched 
out  on  the  straw,  while  the  larger,  with  an  elaborate 
affectation  of  studious  interest,  searches  each  tuft  of 
fur. 

This  possession  of  each  other  is,  by  the  way,  a  cur- 
ious feature  of  monkey  life,  for  they  seem  to  hold  their 
fur  in  common.  No  one  individual  ma3'  take  himself 
off  to  the  top  of  the  cage,  and  533*,  "  You  shan't  scratch 
me,"  for  his  skin  belongs  to  all  his  neighbors  alike,  and 


118  Unnatural  History. 

if  a  larger  monkey  than  himself  expresses  a  wish  to 
scratch  him,  the  smaller  must  at  once  turn  over  on  his 
back  and  submit  to  the  process.  Nor  is  it  etiquette  to 
refuse  one's  self  to  be  scratched  by  another  of  equal  size ; 
and  indeed,  without  derogation  of  dignitj',  a  larger  may 
abandon  the  surface  of  his  stomach  to  a  smaller.  At 
times,  it  is  true,  scratching  degenerates  into  sycophancy, 
for  several  tiny  monkeys  ma}'  be  seen  tickling  one  large, 
lazy  ape-personage.  They  hold  up  his  arms  for  him 
while  they  tickle  his  ribs,  and  watch  obsequiously  the 
motions  of  his  head,  as  the  luxurious  magnate  turns 
first  one  cheek  and  then  the  other  to  be  attended  to. 
But  this  is  a  mere  accident  in  habits,  and  does  not 
affect  that  singular  commonwealth  of  fur  which  seems  to 
obtain  among  the  monkej'-folk,  and  which  prevents  any 
single  member  of  it  selfishly  retiring  into  solitude  with 
his  own  fleas. 

Have  the  monkeys,  again,  nothing  to  say  about  the 
man- ape  problems  that  have  puzzled  humanity  from  the 
first? 

Beginning  with  the  dog-faced  men  of  Tartar}'  and 
Libj-a,  whom  Herodotus  and  Pliny  handed  down  to 
Marco  Polo  and  to  Mandeville,  or  "  the  men  of  the  Hen 
Yeung  kingdom,"  —  those  Chinese  pygmy-men  who  had 
short  tails  and  always  walked  arm  in  arm,  lest  the  birds 
should  think  they  were  insects,  —  and  ending,  at  pres- 
ent, with  the  Soko  of  the  Uregga  forests,  and  the  Susu- 
mete  of  Honduras,  the  list  of  man-apes  is  both  long  and 
varied.  For  want  of  absolute  contradiction  or  confir- 
mation we  human  beings  have  to  hold  our  decision  in 
abe}'ance,  but  why  should  the  monkeys  have  any  doubt 
about  the  connecting  link  ? 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  119 

What  a  work  might  be  written,  both  horrible  and  gro- 
tesque, about  all  the  ape-men  or  man-apes  that  have 
been  introduced  by  travellers  to  the  notice  of  the  world  ! 
Science,  it  is  true,  ignores  them  all,  but  Fancy,  I  think, 
gets  along  better  without  Science.  Classification  and 
microscopic  investigation  are  no  doubt  excellent  things 
in  their  way,  but  they  interfere  very  awkwardly  with  the 
heart}-  conception  of  a  good-all-round  monster ;  and,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  if  travellers  had  been  mere  hair-split- 
ting, "  finicking"  professors,  we  should  never  have  had 
that  substantial  Fauna  of  jVIystery  which  we  now  possess. 
Fortunately,  however,  they  have,  as  a  rule,  been  cour- 
ageous, open-handed  fellows,  who  would  as  soon  think 
of  sticking  at  an  extra  horn  or  hoof,  or  shirking  a  mane 
or  a  tail,  as  of  deserting  a  comrade  in  danger. 

The  result  of  their  generous  labors  has  been  the  col- 
lection of  as  wholesome  a  set  of  monsters  as  could  have 
been  wished  ;  gravitating,  moreover,  as  it  is  right  they 
should,  towards  mankind,  until,  indeed,  they  actually 
merge  in  humanit}-.  Professor  Owen,  who  wages  des- 
perate war,  and  ver}-  properl}',  against  the  existence  of 
all  things  of  which  he  has  not  seen  a  bit,  refuses,  of 
course,  to  admit  the  last  gradation  altogether.  But 
Professor  Huxlej-,  who,  I  believe,  is  really  in  his  heart 
of  hearts  pining  secretly  for  a  tailed  man  to  be  found, 
laughs  to  scorn  the  dry  theor}'  of  the  hippocampus  minor ; 
and  if  he  were  only  to  travel  to-morrow  into  an  unknown 
land,  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  he  would  not  ultimately 
emerge  from  some  primeval  forest  hand  in  hand  with 
the  "  missing  link."  In  the  meantime  he  could  not  do 
better  than  accept  the  Soko.  For  the  establishment 
of  the  Soko's  individuality  there  are  teeth,  skin,  and 
skulls  in  existence,  and  the  last  have  been  declared 


120  Unnatural  History. 

by  Professor  Huxley  to  be  human.  They  were  brought 
from  Africa  by  Mr.  H.  M.  Stanley,  as  being  the  frag- 
ments of  a  great  ape  which  certain  natives  had  eaten, 
and  which  they  themselves  called  "  meat  of  the  forest." 
Nevertheless,  the  Professor  declares  tLat  they  are  the 
remains  of  defunct  humanity,  male  and  female. 

After  this  the  Soko  must  rank  as  one  of  the  most 
interesting  mysteries  of  Nature.  Is  it  human  or  not? 
Is  it  the  chief  of  monkeys  or  the  lowest  of  men?  Dr. 
Livingstone  was  not  quite  certain,  and  Mr.  Staule}'  told 
me  he  was  himself  only  half  convinced.1  In  reviewing 
the  work  of  the  latter  explorer  for  a  London  journal  I 
drew  special  attention  to  the  Soko,  for,  though  actually 
known  only  by  report,  the  repeated  references  to  it 
make  this  ape-man  one  of  the  features  of  the  book.  On 
one  occasion  Mr.  Stanley  actually  startled  to  its  feet  a 
great  mouke}--person  that  was  asleep  on  the  river-bank  ; 
but  his  boat  was  shooting  down  the  stream  so  swiftly 
that  he  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  beast  or  man. 
Circumstantial  evidence  of  the  existence  of  a  half-human 
creature,  however,  thrust  itself  upon  the  explorer  day 
after  day.  In  Manyema,  in  the  Uregga  forests,  at 
Wane  Kirumbu,  at  Mwana  Ntaba,  the  Soko  was  heard 
after  nightfall  or  during  broad  daylight  roaring  and 
chattering.  At  more  than  one  place  its  nest  was  seen 
in  the  fork  of  a  tall  bombax ;  and,  both  at  Kampunzu 
and  a  village  on  the  Ariwimi,  its  teeth,  skin,  and  skulls 

1  When  editing  Mr.  Stanley's  "  Through  the  Dark  Continent," 
I  heard  from  the  explorer  and  read  in  his  notes  much  that  was  not 
published.  His  Soko  lore  was  considerable ;  but  in  a  few  words 
his  man-ape  problem  is  this.  The  natives  gave  Stanley  skulls, 
teeth,  and  skins  of  a  creature  they  called  an  ape.  Professor  Huxley 
says  the  skulls  are  human.  The  teeth  and  skin  are  not. 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  121 

were  obtained  from  the  people,  who  never  differed  in 
their  description  of  the  creature  they  called  the  Soko, 
and  insisted  that  it  was  only  a  monkey.  The  skulls,  at 
any  rate,  have  been  proved  to  be  human,  and  the  teeth 
are  some  of  them  human,  too ;  but  if  the  tough  skin, 
thickly  set  with  close  gray  hair  came  off  the  body  of  a 
man  or  a  woman,  he  or  she  must  have  been  of  a  species 
hitherto  unknown  to  science.  For  as  yet  no  famil}*  of 
our  race  has  confessed  to  a  soft  gray  fur,  nearly  an  inch 
long  in  parts  and  inclining  to  white  at  the  tips.  Yet 
such  is  the  skin  of  the  Soko,  the  creature  whose  skull 
Professor  Huxley  says  is  human. 

Two  fascinating  theories  at  once  suggest  themselves  to 
help  us  out  of  the  Soko  mystery ;  for,  premising  that  Mr. 
Stanle}-  and  Professor  Huxley  are  both  right,  —  and  it  is 
very  difficult  to  see  how  either  can  be  wrong,  —  it  may 
happen  that  under  either  theor}r  the  thing  described  by 
the  tribes  along  the  Livingstone  River  as  "  a  fruit-stealing 
ape,  five  feet  in  height,  and  walking  erect  with  a  staff  in 
its  left  hand,  may  prove  to  be  human.  The  first  is  that 
the  tribes  who  eat  the  Soko  are  reall}1  cannibals,  and  that 
the}*  know  it,  but  feeling  that  curious  shame  on  this 
point  which  is  common  to  nearly  all  cannibals,  the}-  will 
not  confess  to  the  horrid  practice,  and  prefer,  when  on 
their  company  manners  with  uneatable  strangers,  to  pass 
off  their  human  victims  as  apes.  The  other  is  that  there 
actually  does  exist  in  the  centre  of  the  Dark  Continent 
a  race  of  forest  men  so  degraded  and  brute-like  that 
even  the  cannibals  living  on  the  outskirts  of  their  jungles 
really  think  them  to  be  something  less  than  human,  and 
as  such  hunt  them  and  eat  them.  Either  theory  suffices 
to  supply  the  missing  link,  for  if  it  be  true  that  the 
skulls  of  the  Soko  are  human  skulls  —  and  that  the  Soko 


122  Unnatural  History. 

skin  belongs  to  the  Soko-skulls  —  then  the  tribes  of 
the  Livingstone  have  among  them  a  furry-skinned  race 
of  men  that  feed  by  night  and  have  no  articulate  speech. 
If;  on  the  other  hand,  these  furred  creatures  are  so  like 
monkeys  that  even  savages  cannot  recognize  their 
humanity,  and  }'et  so  like  men  that  even  Professor 
Huxley  cannot  recognize  any  trace  of  monke}-  in  their 
skulls,  the  person  called  the  Soko  must  be  a  very  satis- 
factory missing  link  indeed ;  for  it  is  essential  in  such 
a  person  that  he  should  so  nearly  resemble  both  his  next 
of  kin  as  to  be  exactly  assignable  to  neither. 

Man  himself  would,  I  believe,  be  glad,  in  his  present 
advanced  state  of  sympathetic  civilization,  to  admit 
the  monkey's  claim  to  alliance  with  himself;  for  it  is  a 
fact  that  our  race  finds  a  pleasure  in  referring  loftily  to 
the  obscuritj"  of  its  own  origin,  and  feels  a  natural  pride 
in  having  raised  itself  above  its  fortunes. 

In  India,  where  the  monkeys  live  among  men,  and 
are  the  playmates  of  their  children,  the  Hindoos  have 
grown  so  fond  of  them  that  the  four-handed  folk  par- 
ticipate in  all  their  simple  household  rites.  In  the  early 
morning,  when  the  peasant  goes  out  to  3-oke  his  plough, 
and  the  crow  wakes  up,  and  the  dog  stretches  himself 
and  shakes  off  the  dust  in  which  he  has  slept  all  night, 
the  old  monkey  creeps  down  from  the  peepul-tree,  only 
half  awake,  and  yawns,  and  looks  about  him,  puts  a 
straw  in  his  mouth,  and  scratches  himself  contem- 
platively. 

Then  one  by  one  the  whole  family  come  slipping  down 
the  tree-trunk,  and  they  all  yawn  and  look  about  and 
scratch.  But  they  are  sleep}*  and  peevish,  and  the 
3*oungsters  get  cuffed  for  nothing,  and  begin  to  think 
life  dull.  Yet  the  toilet  has  to  be  performed ;  and, 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  123 

whether  the}-  like  it  or  not,  the  young  ones  are  sternly 
pulled  up,  one  by  one,  to  their  mother  to  undergo  the 
process.  The  scene,  though  regularly  repeated  every 
morning,  loses  nothing  of  its  delightful  comicality,  and 
the  monkey-brats  never  tire  of  the  joke  of  taking  in 
mamma.  But  mamma  was  young  herself  not  so  very 
long  ago,  and  treats  each  ludicrous  affectation  of  suffer- 
ing with  profoundest  unconcern,  and,  as  she  dismisses 
one  cleaned  youngster  with  a  cuff,  stretches  out  her 
hand  for  the  next  one's  tail  or  leg  in  the  most  business- 
like and  serious  manner  possible.  The  youngsters  know 
their  turns  quite  well,  and  as  each  one  sees  the  moment 
arriving  it  throws  itself  on  its  stomach,  as  if  overwhelmed 
with  apprehension,  the  others  meanwhile  stifling  their 
laughter  at  the  capital  way  so-and-so  is  doing  it,  and 
the  instant  the  maternal  paw  is  extended  to  grasp  its 
tail  the  subject  of  the  next  experiment  utters  a  dolorous 
wail,  and,  throwing  its  arms  forward  in  the  dust,  allows 
itself  to  be  dragged  along,  a  limp  and  helpless  carcass, 
winking  all  the  time,  no  doubt,  at  its  brothers  and  sisters, 
at  the  way  it  is  imposing  on  the  old  lady.  But  the  old 
lady  will  stand  no  nonsense,  and  turning  the  child  right 
side  up  proceeds  to  put  it  to  rights  ;  takes  the  kinks  out 
of  its  tail  and  the  knots  out  of  its  fur ;  pokes  her  fingers 
into  its  ears  and  looks  at  each  of  its  toes,  the  inexpres- 
sible brat  all  the  time  wearing  on  its  face  an  absurd  ex- 
pression of  hopeless  and  incurable  grief.  Those  who 
have  been  already  cleaned  look  on  with  delight  at  the 
screaming  farce,  while  those  who  are  waiting  wear  a 
becoming  aspect  of  enormous  gravity.  The  old  lad}7, 
however,  has  her  joke,  too,  which  is  to  cuff  every 
youngster  before  she  lets  it  go ;  and  nimble  as  her 
offspring  are,  she  generally,  to  her  credit  be  it  said, 


124  Unnatural  Ilistory. 

manages  to  give  each  of  them  a  box  on  the  ears  before 
it  is  out  of  reach.  The  father,  meanwhile,  sits  gravely 
with  his  back  to  all  these  domestic  matters,  waiting  for 
breakfast. 

Presently  the  mats  before  the  hut-doors  are  pushed 
down,  and*  women  with  brass  vessels  in  their  hands 
come  out ;  and,  while  they  scour  the  pots  and  pans  with 
dust,  exchange  between  }-awns  the  compliments  of  the 
morning. 

The  monkeys  by  this  time  have  come  closer  to  the 
preparations  for  food,  and  sit  solemnly,  household  by 
household,  watching  every  movement.  Hindoos  do  not 
hurry  themselves  in  anything  the}*  do,  but  the  monkey 
has  lots  of  time  to  spare  and  plenty  of  patience,  and  in 
the  end,  after  the  crow  has  stolen  a  little,  and  the  dog 
has  had  its  morsel,  and  the  children  are  all  satisfied. 
the  poor  fragments  of  the  meal  are  thrown  out  on  the 
ground  for  the  bhunder-logue,  the  monkey-people  :  and 
it  is  soon  discussed  —  the  mother  feeding  the  baby  be- 
fore she  eats  herself.  When  every  house  has  thus,  in 
turn,  been  visited,  and  no  chance  of  further  "  out-door 
relief  "  remains,  the  monkeys  go  off  to  the  well.  The 
women  are  all  here  again,  drawing  the  water  for  the 
da}r,  and  the  monke}'s  sit  and  wait,  the  old  ones  in 
the  front,  sententious  and  serious,  and  the  youngsters 
rolling  about  in  the  dust  behind  them,  till  at  last  some 
girl  sees  the  creatures  waiting,  and  "in  the  name  of 
Ram"  spills  a  lotah  full  of  water  in  a  hollow  of  the 
ground,  and  the  monkeys  come  round  it  in  a  circle  and 
stoop  down  and  drink,  with  their  tails  all  curled  up  over 
their  backs  like  notes  of  interrogation.  There  is  no 
contention  or  jostling.  A  forward  child  gets  a  box  on 
the  ear,  perhaps,  but  each  one,  as  it  has  satisfied  its 


Monkeys  and  Metaphysics.  125 

thirst,  steps  quietly  out  of  the  circle  and  wipes  its 
mouth.  The  day  thus  fairly  commenced,  they  go  off  to 
see  what  luck  may  bring  them. 

The  grain-dealer's  shop  tempts  them  to  loiter,  but  the 
experience  of  previous  attempts  makes  theft  hopeless ; 
for  the  bunnya,  with  all  his  years,  is  very  nimble  on  his 
legs,  and  an  astonishing  good  shot  with  a  pipkin.  So 
the  monke3-s  merely  make  their  salaams  to  him  and 
pass  on  to  the  fields.  If  the  corn  is  ripe  they  can  soon 
eat  enough  for  the  day  ;  but,  if  not,  they  go  wandering 
about  picking  up  morsels,  here  an  insect  and  there  a 
berry,  till  the  sun  gets  too  hot,  and  then  they  creep  up 
into  the  dark  shade  of  the  mango  tops  and  snooze 
through  the  afternoon.  In  the  evening  they  are  back 
in  the  village  again  to  share  in  its  comforts  and  enter- 
tainments. 

They  assist  at  the  convocation  of  the  elders  and  the 
romps  of  the  children,  looking  on  when  the  faquir  comes 
up  to  collect  his  little  dues  of  salt  and  corn  and  oil,  and 
from  him  in  their  turn  exacting  a  pious  toll.  The}'  lis- 
ten gravely  to  the  village  musician  till  they  get  sleepy, 
and  then,  one  b}-  one,  they  clamber  up  into  the  peepul. 

And  the  men  sitting  round  the  fire  with  their  pipes 
can  see,  if  they  look  up,  the  whole  colony  of  the  bhunder- 
logue  asleep  in  rows  in  the  tree  above  them. 

But  outside  of  Asia  the  monkey  has  never  become  a 
friend,  even  though  we  have  adopted  him  as  a  relative. 
Literature  has  nothing  to  his  credit,  and  Art  ignores 
him.  In  olden  times  they  never  took  augury  from  a 
monkey,  and  nowadays  no  one  even  takes  it  for  armor- 
ial bearings. 

Yet  the  tailed  ones  are  already  considerably  advanced 


126  Unnatural  H'istory. 

towards  civilization.  As  Darwin  tells  us,  they  catch 
colds  and  die  of  consumption,  suffer  from  apoplexy  and 
from  cholera,  inflammation,  cataracts,  and  so  forth,  can 
pass  on  a  contagious  affection  to  men,  or  take  the  sick- 
ness from  them,  eat  and  drink  all  that  human  beings 
do,  and  suffer  from  surfeits  precisely  as  men  and  women 
do ;  for  if  drunk  over-night  they  have  headaches  next 
morning,  scorn  solid  food,  and  are  exasperated  by  the 
mere  smell  of  strong  liquors,  but  turn  with  relish  to  the 
juice  of  lemons  and  effervescing  draughts. 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  127 


II. 

HUNTING  OF  THE  SOKO. 

LYING  on  my  back  one  terribly  hot  day  under  the 
great  tamarind  that  shades  the  temple  of  Sara- 
van,  in   Borneo,  I  began  to   think   naturally  of  iced 
drinks,  and  from  them  my  mind  wandered  to  icebergs, 
and  from  icebergs  to  Polar  bears. 

Polar  bears !  At  the  recollection  of  these  animals  I 
sat  bolt  upright,  for  though  I  had  shot  over  nearly  all 
the  world,  and  accumulated  a  perfect  museum  of  tro- 
phies, I  had  never  till  this  moment  thought  of  Green- 
land, nor  of  Polar  bears  !  Before  this  I  had  begun  to 
think  I  had  exhausted  Nature.  From  the  false  elk  of 
Ceylon  to  the  true  one  of  Canada,  the  rhinoceros  of 
Assam  to  the  coyote  of  Patagonia,  the  panther  of  Cen- 
tral India  to  the  jaguars  of  the  Amazon,  I  had  seen 
everything  in  its  own  home,  and  shot  it  there.  And 
for  birds,  I  had  hunted  a  so-called  moa  at  Little  Farm 
in  New  Zealand,  the  bustard  in  the  Mahratta  countoy, 
dropped  geese  into  nearly  every  river  of  America, 
Europe,  and  Asia,  and  flushed  almost  all  the  glorious 
tribe  of  game  birds,  from  the  capercailzie  of  Norway  to 
the  quail  of  Sicily.  My  museum,  however,  wanted  yet 
another  skin  —  the  Polar  bear !  I  cannot  say  the  pros- 
pect pleased  me.  I  would  much  rather  have  sent  my 
compliments  to  the  Polar  bear  and  asked  it  to  come 
comfortably  into  some  warm  climate  to  be  shot ;  but  re- 


128  Unnatural  History. 

gretting  was  useless,  so  I  gave  the  order  of  the  da}"  — 
the  North  Pole. 

In  London,  however,  I  heard  of  Stanley's  successful 
search  for  Livingstone,  and  then  it  was  that  the  sense 
of  my  utter  nothingness  came  over  me.  All  Africa 
was  unshot !  It  is  true  I  had  once  gone  from  Bombay 
to  Zanzibar,  Dr.  Kirke  helping  me  on  my  way,  and, 
thanks  to  Mackinnon's  agents  (who  were  busy  pro- 
specting a  road  into  the  interior)  had  bagged  my  hip- 
popotamus, and  enjoyed  many  a  pleasant  stalk  after 
the  fine  antelope  of  the  Bagomoyo  plains.  But  the 
Dark  Continent  itself,  with  its  cloud-like  herds  of  harte- 
best  and  springbok,  its  droves  of  wind-footed  gnu,  its 
zebras,  ostriches  and  lions,  was  still  a  virgin  ground  for 
me.  But  more  than  all  these  —  more  than  ostrich,  gnu, 
or  zebra,  more  than  hippopotamus  or  lion  —  was  that 
mystery  of  the  primeval  forest,  the  Soko.  What  was 
the  Soko?  Certainly  not  the  gorilla,  nor  the  chimpan- 
zee, nor  j-et  the  ourang-outang.  Was  it  a  new  beast 
altogether,  this  man-like  thing,  that  shakes  the  forest  at 
the  sources  of  the  Congo  with  its  awful  voice  —  that 
desolates  the  villages  of  the  jungle  tribes  of  Uregga, 
carries  off  the  women  captive,  and  meets  their  cannibal 
lords  in  fair  fight?  With  Soko  on  the  brain  it  rnay 
be  easily  imagined  that  the  Polar  bear  was  forgotten, 
and  I  lost  no  time  in  altering  my  arrangements  to  suit 
my  altered  plans.  My  snow-shoes  were  countermanded 
and  solar  helmets  laid  in :  fur  gloves  and  socks  were 
exchanged  for  leather  gaiters  and  canvas  suits. 

In  a  month  I  was  read}",  and  in  another  two  months 
had  started  from  Zanzibar  with  a  following  of  eighteen 
men.  During  my  voj-age  I  had  carefully  read  the 
travels  of  Grant,  Speke,  Burton,  Livingstone,  Came- 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  129 

ron,  Schweinfurth,  and  Stanlej-,  and  in  all  had  been 
struck  by  the  losses  suffered  from  fatigue  on  the  march. 
With  large  expeditions  it  was  of  course  necessary  for 
most  to  go  on  foot,  but  with  my  pygmj7  cortege  I  could 
.  afford  to  let  them  ride.  Good  strong  donkeys  were 
cheap  at  Zanzibar,  and  I  bought  a  baker's  dozen  of 
them,  reserving  three  of  the  best  for  myself,  and  allot- 
ting ten  among  my  men,  to  relieve  them  either  of  their 
burdens  or  the  fatigue  of  walking,  according  to  any  fair 
arrangements  —  fair  to  the  donke3's  and  to  themselves 
—  they  chose  to  make  among  themselves.  The  result 
was  no  sickness,  little  fatigue,  and  constant  good 
spirits.  My  goods  consisted  of  m}-  own  personal  effects, 
all  on  one  donkey;  my  medicine-chest,  etc.,  on  an- 
other ;  fifteen  men-loads  of  beads,  wire,  and  cloth,  for 
making  friends  with  the  natives  and  purchasing  pro- 
visions ;  and  three  loads  of  ammunition.  I  was  lucky  in 
the  time  of  my  start,  for  Mirambo,  i;  the  terror  of 
Africa,"  who  had  been  scouring  the  centre  of  the  con- 
tinent for  the  past  3~ear,  had  just  concluded  peace  with 
the  Arabs,  his  enemies,  and  had  moreover  ordered  every 
one  also  to  keep  the  peace.  The  result  to  me  was  that 
each  village  was  as  harmless  as  the  next. 

Gaily  enough,  then,  we  strolled  along,  enjoying  occa- 
sionally excellent  sport,  and  wondering  as  we  went 
where  all  the  horrors  and  perils  of  African  travel  had 
gone.  We  had,  it  is  true,  our  experience  of  them 
afterwards ;  but  the  ground  has  now  become  so  stale, 
that  I  will  pass  over  the  interval  of  our  journey  from 
Zanzibar  to  Ujiji  and  thence  to  the  river,  and  ask  you  to 
imagine  us  setting  out  for  the  forests  that  lie  about  the 
sources  of  the  Livingstone  in  the  district  of  Uregga,  the 
Soko's  home. 

9 


130  Unnatural  History. 

Nearly  every  traveller  before  me  had  spoken  of  the 
Soko,  the  man-beast  of  these  primeval  forests.  Living- 
stone had  a  large  store  of  legends  and  anecdotes  about 
them,  their  intelligent  crueltj"  and  their  fierce,  though 
frugivorous,  habits.  Stanley  constantly  heard  them.  In 
one  place  he  saw  a  Soko's  platform  in  a  tree,  and  in 
several  villages  found  the  skin,  the  teeth,  and  the  skulls 
in  possession  of  the  people. 

Wherever  we  went  I  was  eager  in  my  inquiries,  but 
day  after  da}'  slipped  by,  and  still  I  neither  heard  the 
Soko  alive  nor  saw  any  portion  of  one  dead.  But  even 
without  encountering  the  great  simia,  our  journej-  in 
these  nightshade  forests  was  .sufficiently  eventful,  for 
great  panther-like  creatures,  very  pale-skinned,  prowled 
about  in  the  glimmering  shades  ;  and  from  the  trees  we 
sometimes  saw  hanging  pythons  of  tremendous  girth. 
But  the  reptile  and  insect  world  was  chiefly  in  the  as- 
cendant here,  and  it  was  against  such  small  persecutors 
as  puff-adders,  centipedes,  poisonous  spiders,  and  ants, 
that  we  had  to  guard  ourselves.  Travelling,  however, 
owing  to  the  dense  shade,  was  not  the  misery  that  we 
had  found  it  in  the  sun-smitten  "plains  of  Uturu,  or  the 
hideous  ocean  of  scrub-jungle  that  sta-etches  from  Suna 
to  Mgongo-Zembo.  The  trees,  nearly  all  of  three  or 
four  species  of  bombax,  mvule,  and  aldrendon,  were  of 
stupendous  size  and  impossible  altitude,  but  growing 
so  close  together  their  crowns  were  tightly  interwoven 
overhead,  and  sometimes  not  a  hundred  yards  in  a  whole 
day's  march  was  open  to  the  sky.  Moreover,  in  the 
hot-house  air  under  this  canopy  had  sprung  up  with  in- 
credible luxuriance  every  species  of  tree-fern,  rattan  and 
creeping  palm  known,  I  should  think,  to  the  tropics, 
and  amongst  themselves  in  a  stratum,  often  thirty  feet 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  131 

below  the  upper  roof  of  tree-foliage,  had  closely  inter- 
meshed  their  fronds  and  tendrils,  so  that  we  marched 
often  in  an  oven  atmosphere,  but  protected  alike  from 
the  killing  sun  and  flooding  rain  by  double  awnings  of 
impenetrable  leafage.  The  ground  itself  was  bare  of 
vegetation,  except  where,  here  and  there,  monster  fungi 
clustered,  like  a  condemned  invoice  of  umbrellas  and 
parasols,  round  some  fallen  giant  of  the  forest,  or 
where,  in  a  screen  of  blossom,  wonderful  air-plants 
filled  up  great  spaces  from  tree-trunk  to  tree-trunk. 

At  intervals  we  crossed  rivulets  of  crystal  water,  icy 
cold,  finding  their  way  as  best  they  might  from  hollow 
to  hollow  over  the  centuries'  laj'ers  of  fallen  leaves,  and 
along  their  courses  grew  in  rich  profusion  masses  of  a 
broad-leafed  sedge,  that  afforded  the  panther  safe  covert 
and  easy  couch  ;  and  sometimes,  on  approaching  one  of 
these  rills,  we  would  see  a  ghostly  herd  of  deer  flit  away 
through  the  twilight  shade.  And  thus  it  happened  that 
one  evening  I  was  lying  on  my  rug  half  asleep,  with  the 
pleasant  deep-sea  gloom  about  me  and  a  deathly  still- 
ness reigning  over  this  world  of  trees,  and  wondering 
whether  that  was  or  was  not  a  monkej^  perched  high 
up  among  the  palm  fronds,  when  out  from  the  sedges 
b}'  a  runnel  there  paced  before  me  a  panther  of  unusual 
size.  From  his  gait  I  saw  that  it  had  a  victim  in  view, 
and  turning  my  head  was  horrified  to  see  that  it  was 
one  of  my  own  men,  who  was  busy-  about  something  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree. 

I  jumped  up  with  a  shout,  and  the  panther,  startled 
by  the  sudden  sound,  plunged  back  in  three  great  leaps 
into  the  sedges  from  which  it  had  emerged.  All  my 
men  jumped  to  their  feet,  and  one  of  them,  in  his  terror 
at  the  proximity  of  the  beast  of  prey,  turned  and  fled 


132  Unnatural  History. 

away  into  the  depth  of  the  forest.  I  watched  his  re- 
treating figure  as  far  as  the  eye  could  follow  it  iu  that 
light,  and  laughing  at  his  panic,  went  over  to  where  my 
ass  was  tied,  intending  to  stroll  down  for  a  shot  at  the 
panther.  And  while  I  was  idly  getting  ready,  the  sound 
of  excited  conversation  among  m}-  men  attracted  me, 
and  I  asked  them  what  was  the  matter.  There  was  a 
laugh,  and  then  one  of  them,  the  most  sensible,  English- 
minded  African  I  ever  met,  stepped  forward. 

"  We  do  not  know,  master,"  said  he,  "which  of  us 
it  was  that  ran  away  just  now.  We  are  all  here" 

The  full  significance  of  his  words  did  not  strike  me  at 
first,  and  I  laughed  too.  "  Oh,  count  j-ourselves,"  I  said, 
"  and  j'ou  will  soon  find  out." 

"  But  we  have  counted,  master,"  replied  the  man, 
"  and  all  eighteen  are  here." 

His  meaning  began  to  dawn  on  me.  I  felt  a  queer 
feeling  creep  over  me. 

"  All  here  ! "  I  ejaculated.     "  Muster  the  men." 

And  mustered  they  were  —  and  to  my  astonishment, 
and  even  horror,  I  found  the  man  was  speaking  the 
truth.  Every  man  of  my  force  was  in  his  place. 

Then  who  was  the  man  that  had  run  away,  when  all 
the  party  started  up  from  their  sleep?  A  ghost1?  I 
looked  round  into  the  deepening  gloom.  All  my  men 
were  standing  together,  looking  rather  frightened. 
Around  us  stretched  the  eternal  forest.  A  ghost !  And 
then  on  a  sudden  the  thought  flashed  across  me  —  I  had 
seen  the  Soko. 

I  had  seen  the  Soko !  and  seeing  it  had  mistaken  it 
for  a  human  being !  And  while  I  was  still  loading  my 
cartridge-belt,  Shumari,  my  gun-boy,  had  crept  up  to 
my  side,  with  my  express  in  one  hand  and  heavy  ele- 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  133 

phant  rifle  in  the  other;  but  on  his  face  there  was  a 
strange,  concerned  expression,  and  in  the  tone  of  his 
voice  an  uneasy  tremor,  with  which  something  in  my 
own  feelings  S3'rnpathized. 

"  Is  the  master  going  to  hunt  the  wild  man?"  asked 
the  lad. 

"  The  Soko?    Yes,  I  want  its  skin,"  I  replied. 

"But  the  wild  man  cried  out,  '•Ai!  ma-ma'  ['Oh! 
mother,  mother']  as  it  ran  away,  and  —  " 

"Here  is  the  wild  man's  stick,"  broke  in  Mabruki, 
the  Zanzibar! ;  and  as  he  spoke  he  held  out  towards  me 
a  long  staff,  seven  feet  in  length.  All  the  blood  in  my 
body  ran  cold  at  the  sight  of  it.  It  was  a  mere  length 
of  rattan,  without  ferule  or  knot,  but  at  the  upper  end 
the  bark  had  been  torn  down  from  joint  to  joint  in 
parallel  strips,  to  give  the  holder  a  firmer  grip  than  one 
could  have  had  on  smooth  cane',  and  just  below  the 
second  joint  the  stumps  of  the  corresponding  shoots  on 
two  sides  had  been  left  sticking  out  for  the  hand  to 
rest  on. 

How  can  I  describe  the  throng  of  hideous  thoughts 
that  whirled  through  my  brain  on  the  instant  that  I  rec- 
ognized these  efforts  of  reason  in  the  animal  that  I  was 
now  going  to  hunt  to  the  death?  But  swift  as  were  my 
thoughts,  Mabrnki  had  thought  them  out  before  me,  and 
had  come  to  a  conclusion.  "The  mshenshi  mtato  [pa- 
gan ape]  had  stolen  this  stick  from  some  village,"  said 
he;  "  see,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  smoothed  offshoots, 
"  they  have  stained  them  with  the  mvule  juice." 

The  instant  relief  I  felt  at  this  happy  solution  of  the 
dreadful  myster}1  was  expressed  by  me  in  a  shout  of 
jo}- ;  so  sudden  and  so  real  that,  without  knowing  wh}*, 
my  men  shouted  too,  and  with  such  a  will  that  the 


134  Unnatural  History. 

monkeys  that  had  been  gravely  pondering  over  our 
preparations  for  the  evening  meal  were .  startled  out  of 
their  self-respect  and  off  their  perches,  and  plunged 
precipitately  into  a  tangle  of  lianes.  My  spirits  had 
returned,  and  with  as  light  a  heart  as  ever  I  had,  I 
ambled  off  in  the  direction  the  Soko  had  taken. 

But  soon  the  voices  of  the  camp  had  died  away  be- 
hind me,  and  there  had  grown  up  between  me  and  it 
the  wall  of  mist  that  in  this  sunless  forest  region  makes 
every  mile  as  secret  from  the  next  as  if  3~ou  were  in  the 
highest  ether  —  surely  the  most  secret  of  all  places  — 
or  in  the  lowest  sea.  And  over  the  soft,  rich  vegetable 
mould  the  ass's  feet  went  noiseless  as  an  owl's  wing 
upon  the  air ;  and,  except  for  the  rhythmical  jingling  of 
his  ass's  harness,  Shumari's  presence  might  never  have 
been  suspected.  And  then  in  this  cathedral  solitude  — 
with  cloistered  tree-trunks  reaching  away  at  every  point 
of  view  into  long  vistas  closed  in  gra}7  mist ;  overhead, 
hanging  like  tattered  tapestry,  great  lengths  and  rags  of 
moss-growths,  strange  textures  of  fungus  and  parasite, 
hanging  plumb  down  in  endless  points,  all  as  motionless 
as  possible ;  without  a  breath  of  life  stirring  about  me 
—  bird,  beast,  or  insect  —  the  same  horrid  thoughts  took 
possession  of  me  again,  and  I  began  to  recall  the  ges- 
tures of  the  wild  thing  which,  when  I  startled  the  panther, 
had  fled  awaj"  into  the  forest  depths. 

It  had  stood  upright  amongst  the  upright  men,  and 
turning  to  run  had  stooped,  but  only  so  much  as  a  man 
might  do  when  running  with  all  his  speed.  In  the  gait 
there  was  a  one-sided  swing,  just  as  some  great  man-ape 
—  gorilla  or  chimpanzee  —  might  have  when,  as  travel- 
lers tell  us,  they  help  themselves  along  on  the  knuckles 
of  the  long  fore- arm,  the  body  swaying  down  to  the  side 


Hunting  of  the  SoJco.  135 

on  which  the  hand  touches  the  ground  at  each  stride. 
In  one  hand  was  a  small  branch  of  some  leafy  shrub, 
for  I  distinctly  remembered  having  seen  it  as  it  began 
to  run.  The  speed  must  have  been  great,  for  it  was 
very  soon  out  of  sight ;  but  there  was  no  appearance  of 
rapidity  in  the  movement,  — like  the  wolf's  slow-looking 
gallop,  that  no  horse  can  overtake,  and  that  soon  tires 
out  the  fleetest  hound.  As  it  began  to  run  it  had  made 
a  jabbering  sound,  —  an  inarticulate  expression  of  simple 
human  fear  I  had  thought  it  to  be  ;  but  now,  pondering 
over  it,  I  began  to  wonder  that  I  could  have  mistaken 
that  swiftly  retreating  figure  for  human. 

It  is  true  that  I  did  not  want  to  think  of  it  as  human, 
and  perhaps  my  wishes  may  have  colored  my  retro- 
spect ;  at  an}'  rate,  whatever  the  process,  I  found  my- 
self, after  a  while,  laughing  at  mj'self  for  having  turned 
sick  at  heart  when  the  suspicion  came  across  me  that 
perhaps  the  Soko  of  the  forests  of  Uregga,  the  feast-day 
dish  of  the  jungle  tribes,  might  be  a  human  being.  The 
long,  lolloping  gait,  the  jabbering,  should  alone  have 
dispelled  the  terror.  It  is  true  that  my  men  heard  it 
sa}*,  "Oh,  ma-ma !  "  as  it  started  up  to  run  by  them. 
But  in  half  the  languages  of  the  world,  mama  is  a 
synonym  for  "  mother,"  and  it  follows,  therefore,  that 
it  is  not  a  word  at  all,  but  simply  the  phonetic  render- 
ing of  the  first  bleating,  babbling  articulation  of  baby- 
hood, —  an  animal  noise  uttered  as  articulately  by  young 
sheep  and  3*oung  goats  as  by  young  men  and  women. 
The  staff,  too,  was  of  the  common  type  in  these  dis- 
tricts, and  had  been  picked  up,  no  doubt,  by  the  Soko 
in  some  twilight  prowling  round  a  grain  store,  or  per- 
haps gained  in  fair  fight  from  some  villager  whom  it 
had  surprised,  solitary  and  defenceless.  And  then  my 


136  Unnatural  History. 

thoughts  ran  on  to  all  I  had  read  or  heard  of  the  Soko, 
of  its  societies  for  mutual  defence  or  food-supply,  and 
the  comparative  amiability  of  such  communities,  —  of 
the  solitary  outlawed  Soko,  the  vindictive,  lawless  ban- 
dit of  the  trees,  who  wanders  about  round  the  habita- 
tions of  men,  Mng  in  wait  for  the  women  and  the 
children,  robbing  the  granaries  and  orchards,  and  steal- 
ing, for  the  simple  larceny's  sake,  household  chattels, 
of  the  use  of  which  it  is  ignorant.  Shumari,  a  hunter 
born  and  bred,  was  full  of  Soko  lore  ;  the  skin,  he  said, 
was  covered,  except  on  the  throat,  hands,  and  feet, 
with  a  short,  harsh  hair  of  a  dark  color,  and  tipped  in 
the  older  individuals  with  gray ;  these  also  had  long 
growths  of  hair  on  the  head,  their  cheeks  and  lips.  It 
had  no  tail. 

"  Standing  up,"  said  he,  "it  is  as  tall  as  I  am  [he 
was  only  five  feet  one  inch] ,  and  its  eyes  are  together 
in  the  front  of  its  face,  so  that  it  looks  at  you  straight. 
It  eats  sitting  up,  and  when  tired  leans  its  back  against 
a  tree,  putting  its  hands  behind  its  head.  Three  men 
of  m}7  village  came  upon  one  asleep  in  this  waj-  one  da\T, 
and  so  quietly  that  before  it  awoke  two  of  them  had 
speared  it.  It  started  up  and  threw  back  its  head  to 
give  a  loud  cry  of  pain,  and  then  leaning  its  elbow 
against  the  tree,  it  bent  its  head  down  upon  its  arms, 
and  so  died,  —  leaning  against  the  tree,  with  one  arm 
supporting  the  head  and  the  other  pressed  to  its  heart. 
There  was  a  Soko  village  there,  for  they  saw  all  their 
platforms  in  the  trees,  and  the  ground  was  heaped  up 
in  places  with  snail-shells  and  fruit-skins.  But  they  did 
not  see  any  more  Sokos.  .  .  .  Another  day  I  myself 
was  out  hunting  with  a  party,  and  we  found  a  dead 
Soko.  I  had  thrown  my  spear  at  a  tree-cat,  and  going 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  137 

to  pick  it  up,  saw  close  by  a  large  heap  of  myornbo 
loaves.  I  turned  some  up  with  ray  spear,  and  found  a 
dead  Soko  underneath.  .  .  .  When  a  Soko  catches  a  man 
it  holds  him,  and  makes  faces  at  him,  and  jabbers; 
sometimes  it  lets  him  go  without  doing  him  any  harm, 
but  generally  it  bites  off  all  his  fingers  one  by  one,  spit- 
ting them  out  as  it  bites  them  off,  and  his  nose  and  ears 
and  toes  as  well,  and  ends  up  by  strangling  him  with  its 
finders  or  beating  him  to  death  with  a  branch.  Women 

o  o 

and  children  are  never  seen  again,  so  I  suppose  the 
Sokos  eat  them.  They  have  no  spears  or  knives,  and 
they  do  not  use  anything  that  men  use,  except  that  they 
walk  with  sticks,  knocking  down  fruit  with  them,  and 
that  the}'  drink  water  out  of  their  hands.  Their  front 
teeth  are  very  sharp,  and  at  each  side  is  one  longer  and 
sharper  than  the  rest." 

And  so  he  went  on  chattering  to  me  as  we  ambled 
through  the  dim  shade  in  a  stupid  pursuit  of  an  invisi- 
ble thing.  The  stupidity  of  it  dawned  upon  me  at  last, 
and  I  stopped,  and  without  explaining  the  change  to 
my  companion,  turned  and  rode  homewards. 

The  twilight  shadows  of  the  day  were  now  deepening 
into  night,  and  we  hurried  on.  The  fireflies  began  to 
flicker  along  the  sedge-grown  rills  and,  high  up  among 
the  leaf  coronets  of  the  elais  palm,  were  clustering  in  a 
mazy  dance.  Passing  a  tangle  of  lianes,  I  heard  an  owl 
or  some  night  bird  hoot  gently  from  the  foliage,  and  as 
we  went  along  the  fowl  seemed  to  keep  pace  with  us, 
for  the  ventriloquist  sound  was  always  with  us,  fast 
though  we  rode  ;  and  first  from  one  side  and  then  from 
the  other  we  heard  the  low-voiced  complaining  follow- 
ing. And  the  "eeriness"  of  the  company  grew  upon 
me.  There  was  no  sound  of  wings  or  rustling  of  leaves ; 


138  Unnatural  History. 

but  for  mile  after  mile  the  low  hoot,  hoot,  of  the  thing 
that  was  following,  sounded  so  close  at  hand  that  I  kept 
on  looking  round.  Shuinari,  like  all  savages — the}r 
approach  animals  very  nearly  in  this  —  was  intensely 
susceptible  to  the  superstitious  and  uncanny,  and  long 
before  the  ghostliness  of  the  persistent  voice  occurred 
to  me,  I  had  noticed  that  Shumari  was  keeping  as  close 
to  me  as  possible.  But  at  last,  whether  it  was  from 
constantly  turning  my  head  over  my  shoulder  to  see 
what  was  coming  after  us,  or  whether  I  was  uncon- 
sciously infected  by  his  nervousness,  I  got  as  fidgety 
as  he,  and,  for  the  sake  of  human  company,  opened 
conversation. 

"  What  bird  makes  that  noise?  "  I  asked. 

Shumari  did  not  reply,  and  I  repeated  the  question. 

And  then  in  a  voice,  so  absurd  from  its  assumption 
of  boldness  that  I  laughed  outright,  he  said,  — 

"  No  bird,  master.  It  is  a  muzimu  [spirit]  that  is 
following  us.  Let  us  go  quicker." 

Here  was  a  position  !  We  had  all  the  evening  been 
hunting  nothing,  and  now  we  were  being  hunted  by 
nothing !  The  memory  of  Shumari's  voice  made  me 
laugh  again,  and  just  then  catching  sight  of  the  twink- 
ling camp  fires  in  the  far  distance,  I  laughed  at  myself 
too.  And,  on  a  sudden,  just  as  iivy  laugh  ceased,  there 
came  from  the  rattan  brake  past  which  we  were  riding 
a  sound  that  was,  and  yet  was  not,  the  echo  of  my 
laugh.  It  sounded  something  like  my  laugh,  but  it 
was  repeated  twice,  and  the  creature  I  rode,  ass  though 
it  was,  turned  its  head  towards  the  brake.  Shumari 
meanwhile  had  seen  the  camp  fires,  and  his  terror  over- 
powering discipline,  he  gave  one  howl  of  horror  and 
fled,  his  ass,  seeing  the  fires  too,  falling  into  the  humor 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  139 

with  all  his  will,  and  carrying  off  his  rider  at  full  speed. 
My  ass  wanted  to  follow,  but  I  pulled  him  up,  and  to 
make  further  trial  of  the  hidden  jester,  shouted  out  in 
Swahili,  "  Who  is  there  ?" 

The  answer  was  as  sudden  as  horrifying.  For  an  in- 
stant the  brake  swayed  to  and  fro,  and  then  there  came 
a  crashing  of  branches  as  of  some  great  beast  forcing 
his  way  through  them,  and  on  a  sudden,  close  behind 
me,  burst  out  —  the  Soko ! 

Shumari  had  carried  off  my  guns,  and,  except  for  the 
short  knife  in  my  belt,  I  was  defenceless.  And  there 
before  me  in  the  flesh  stood  the  creature  I  had  gone  out 
to  hunt,  but  which  for  ever  so  many  miles  must  have 
been  hunting  us.  I  had  no  leisure  for  moralizing  or 
even  for  examination  of  the  creature  before  me.  It 
seemed  about  Shumari's  height,  but  was  immensely 
broad  at  the  shoulders,  and  in  one  hand  it  carried  a 
fragment  of  a  bough.  Had  it  been  simply  man  against 
man,  I^would  have  stood  my  ground  —  but  was  it?  The 
dim  light  prevented  my  noting  any  details,  and  I  had 
no  inclination  or  time  to  scrutinize  the  features  of  the 
thing  that  now  approached  me.  I  saw  the  white  teeth 
flashing,  heard  a  deep-chested  stuttering,  inarticulate 
with  rage,  and  flinging  myself  from  the  ass,  which  was 
trembling  and  rooted  to  the  spot  with  fear,  I  ran  as  I 
had  never  run  before  in  the  direction  of  the  camp. 

The  Soko  must  have  stopped  to  attack  the  ass,  for 
I  heard  a  scuffle  behind  me  as  I  started,  but  very  soon 
the  ass  came  tearing  past  me,  and  looking  round  I  saw 
the  Soko  in  pursuit.  The  heavy  branch  fortunately  en- 
cumbered its  progress,  but  it  gained  upon  me.  Close 
behind  me  I  heard  the  thing  jabbering  and  panting,  and 
for  an  instant  thought  of  standing  at  bay.  I  was  run- 


140  Unnatural  History. 

ning  my  hardest,  but  it  seemed,  just  as  in  a  nightmare, 
as  if  horror  had  partly  paralyzed  my  limbs,  and  I  were 
only  creeping  along.  The  horror  of  such  pursuit  was, 
I  felt,  culminating  in  sickness,  and  I  thought  I  should 
swoon  and  fall.  But  just  then  I  became  aware  of  ap- 
proaching lights,  the  camp  fires  seemed  to  be  running 
to  me.  The  Soko,  however,  was  fast  overtaking  me, 
and  I  struggled  on,  but  it  was  of  no  use,  and  my  feet 
tripping  against  the  projecting  root  of  an  old  mvule,  I 
fell  on  my  knees ;  but,  rising  again,  I  staggered  against 
the  tree,  drew  my  knife,  and  waited  for  the  attack.  In 
an  instant  the  Soko  was  up  with  me,  and,  dropping  its 
bough,  reached  out  its  arms  to  seize  me.  I  lunged  at  it 
with  my  knife,  but  the  length  of  its  arms  baffled  me,  for 
before  the  point  of  my  knife  could  find  its  body,  the 
Soko's  hands  had  grasped  my  shoulders,  and  with  such 
astonishing  force  that  it  seemed  as  if  my  arms  were  be- 
ing displaced  in  their  sockets.  The  next  moment  a 
third  hand  seized  hold  of  my  leg  below  the  knee,  and  I 
was  instantly  jerked  on  to  the  ground.  The  full  par- 
tially stunned  me,  and  then  I  felt  a  rough-haired  body 
fall  heavily  upon  me,  and,  groping  their  way  to  my 
throat,  long  fingers  feeling  about  me.  I  struggled  with 
the  creature,  but  against  its  strength  my  hands  were 
nerveless.  The  fingers  had  now  found  my  throat ;  I 
felt  the  grasp  tightening,  and  gave  n^self  up  to  death. 
But  on  a  sudden  there  was  a  confusion  of  voices  —  a 
flashing  of  bright  lights  before  my  eyes,  and  the  weight 
was  all  at  once  raised  from  off  me.  In  another  minute 
I  had  recovered  my  consciousness,  and  found  that  my 
men,  the  gallant  Mabruki  at  their  head,  had  charged  to 
my  rescue  with  burning  brands,  and  arrived  only  just  in 
tune  to  save  my  life. 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  141 

And  the  Soko? 

As  I  lay  there,  my  faithful  followers  round  me  with 
their  brands  still  flickering,  the  voice  of  the  Soko  came 
to  us,  but  from  which  direetion  it  was  impossible  to  say, 
soft  and  mysterious  as  before,  the  same  hoot,  hoot,  that 
had  puzzled  us  on  our  homeward  route. 

My  narrow  escape  from  a  horrible  though  somewhat 
absurd  death  was  celebrated  by  my  men  with  extrava- 
gant demonstrations  of  indignation  against  the  Soko  that 
had  hunted  me,  and  many  respectful  reproaches  for  my 
temerity.  For  myself,  I  was  more  eager  than  ever  to 
capture  or  kill  the  formidable  thing  that  had  outwitted 
and  outmatched  me ;  and  so  having  had  my  arms  well 
rubbed  with  oil,  I  gave  the  order  for  a  general  muster 
next  morning  for  a  grand  Soko  hunt. 

Now,  close  by  our  camp  grew  a  great  tree,  from  which 
hung  down  liane  strands  of  every  rope-thickness,  and  all 
round  its  roots  had  grown  up  a  dense  hedge  of  strong- 
spined  cane.  One  of  my  men,  sent  up  the  tree  to  cut  us 
off  some  of  these  natural  ropes,  reported  that  all  round 
the  tree,  that  is,  between  its  trunk  and  the  cane-hedge, 
there  was  a  clear  space,  so  that  though,  looking  at  it 
from  the  outside,  it  seemed  as  if  the  canes  grew  right  up 
to  the  tree  trunk,  looking  at  it  from  above,  there  was 
seen  to  be  really  an  open  pathway,  so  to  speak,  sur- 
rounding the  tree,  broad  enough  for  three  men  to  walk 
abreast.  I  had  often  heard  of  similar  cases  of  vegetable 
aversions,  where,  from  some  secret  cause  of  plant  preju- 
dice, two  shrubs,  though  growing  together,  exercise  this 
mutual  repulsion,  and  never  actually  combine  in  growth. 
Meanwhile,  however,  the  phenomenon  was  interesting  to 
me  for  other  reasons,  for  I  saw  at  once  what  a  conve- 
nient receptacle  this  natural  well  would  make  for  the 
baggage  we  had  to  leave  behind. 


142  Unnatural  History. 

Leaving  our  effects  therefore  inside  this  brake,  which 
we  did  by  slinging  the  bales  one  after  the  other  over 
an  overhanging  bough,  and  so  dropping  them  into  the 
open  pathway,  and  removing  from  the  neighborhood 
•every  trace  of  our  recent  encampment,  we  started  west- 
ward with  four  days'  provisions,  ready  cooked,  on  our 
•backs.  The  method  of  march  was  in  line,  each  man 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  next,  and  every  second 
man  on  an  ass,  the  riders  carrying  the  usual  ivor}'  horns, 
without  which  no  travellers  in  the  Uregga  forests  ever 
move  from  home,  and  the  notes  of  which,  exactly  like 
the  cry  of  the  American  wood-marmot,  keep  the  party  in 
line.  B}T  this  means  we  covered  a  mile,  and  being  unen- 
cumbered, marched  fast,  scouring  the  wood  before  us  at 
the  rate  of  four  miles  an  hour  for  three  hours. 

And  what  a  wild,  weird  time  it  was,  those  three  hours, 
inarching  with  noiseless  footfalls,  looking  constantly  right 
and  left  and  overhead.  I  could  see  the  line  of  shadowy 
figures  advancing  on  either  side,  not  a  sound  along  the 
whole  line,  except  when  the  horns  carried  down  in  re- 
sponse to  one  another  their  thin,  wailing  notes,  or  when 
some  palm  fruit,  over-ripe,  dropped  rustling  down  through 
the  canopy  of  foliage  above  us.  And  yet  the  whole  for- 
est was  instinct  with  life.  If  you  set  yourself  to  listen, 
there  came  to  }-our  ears,  all  day  and  night,  a  great 
monotone  of  sound  humming  through  the  misty  shade, 
the  aggregate  voices  of  millions  of  insect  things  that 
had  their  being  among  the  foliage  or  in  the  daylight 
that  reigned  in  the  outer  world  above  those  green 
clouds  which  made  perpetual  twilight  for  us  who  were 
passing  underneath.  Along  the  tree-roof  streamed  also 
troops  of  monkeys,  and  flocks  of  parrots  and  other 
birds ;  but  in  their  passage  overhead,  we  could  not, 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  143 

through  the  dense  vault  of  foliage,  branch,  and  blossom, 
hear  their  voices,  except  as  merged  in  the  one  great 
sound  that  filled  all  space,  too  large  almost  to  be  heard 
at  all.  In  the  midst,  then,  of  this  vast  murmur  of  con- 
fused nature,  we  seemed  to  walk  in  absolute  silence. 
The  ear  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  it,  that  a  sneeze 
was  heard  with  a  start,  and  the  occasional  knocking  to- 
gether of  asses'  hoofs  made  every  head  turn  suddenly, 
and  every  rifle  move  to  the  shoulder. 

At  the  end  of  the  three  hours'  marching  we  came  to 
a  river,  —  perhaps  that  which  Stanley,  in  his  "Dark. 
Continent,"  names  the  Asna,  —  flowing  northwest,  with 
a  width  here  of  only  one  hundred  yards,  —  a  deep,  slow 
stream,  crystal  clear,  flowing  without  a  ripple  or  a  mur- 
mur through  the  perpetual  gloaming,  between  banks  of 
soft,  rich,  black  leaf-mould.  "VYe  halted,  and,  after  a 
rapid  meal,  re-formed  in  line,  and  marching  for  two 
miles  easterly  up  the  river,  made  a  left  wheel ;  and  in 
the  same  order,  and  at  the  same  pace  as  we  had 
advanced,  we  continued  nearly  two  hours  rather  in  a 
northerly  direction  ;  and  then  making  a  left  wheel  again, 
started  off  due  west,  crossing  the  tracks  of  our  morn- 
ing's march  in  our  fourth  mile,  and  reaching  the  Asna 
again  in  our  tenth  mile,  —  a  total  march  of  nearly  thirt}'- 
two  miles,  of  which,  of  course,  each  man  had  traversed 
onby  one  half  on  foot.  No  cooking  was  allowed,  and 
our  collation  was  therefore  soon  despatched,  and  before 
I  had  lighted  my  pipe  and  curled  n^self  up  I  saw  that 
all  the  part}-  were  snug  under  their  mosquito  nets. 

I  had  noticed,  when  reading  travellers'  books,  that 
they  always  suffered  severely  from  mosquitoes  and  other 
insects.  I  determined  that  /  would  not ;  so,  before 
leaving  Zanzibar,  served  out  to  every  man  twenty  yards 


144  Unnatural  History. 

of  net.  These,  in  the  daytime,  were  worn  round  the  head 
as  turbans,  and  at  night  spread  upon  sticks,  and  fur- 
nished each  man  a  protection  against  these  Macbeths 
of  the  sedge  and  brake.  The  men  thoroughly  under- 
stood their  value,  and  before  turning  in  for  the  night, 
always  carefully  examined  their  nets  for  straj-  holes, 
which  they  caught  together  with  fibres.  But  somehow 
I  could  not  go  to  sleep  for  a  long  while  ;  the  pain  in  my 
arm  where  the  Soko  seized  me  was  very  great  at  times  ; 
besides,  I  felt  haunted ;  and  indeed,  when  I  awoke  and 
found  it  already  four  o'clock,  it  did  not  seem  that  I  had 
been  asleep  at  all.  But  the  time  for  sleep  was  now 
over;  so,  awakening  the  expedition,  we  ate  a  silent 
meal,  and  noiselessly  remounting,  were  again  on  the 
war-trail.  On  this,  the  second  da}*,  we  marched  some 
three  miles  down  the  river,  northwest,  and  then  taking 
a  half  right  wheel,  started  off  northeast,  passing  to  the 
north  of  our  camp  at  about  the  eleventh  mile.  Here 
the  first  sign  of  life  we  had  seen  since  we  started  broke 
the  tedium  of  our  ghost-like  progress. 

Between  myself  and  the  next  man  on  the  line  was 
running  a  little  stream,  fed  probably  by  the  dews  that 
here  rained  down  upon  us  from  the  mvule- trees.  These, 
more  than  all  others,  seem  to  condense  the  heated 
upper  air,  their  leaves  being  thick  in  texture,  and 
curiously  cool,  —  for  which  reason  the  natives  prefer 
them  for  butter  and  oil  dishes.  Along  the  stream,  as 
usual,  crowded  a  thick  fringe  of  white-starred  sedge. 
On  a  sudden  there  was  a  swaying  of  the  herbage,  and 
out  bounced  a  splendidly  spotted  creature  of  the  cat 
kind.  Immediately  behind  him  crept  out  his  mate ; 
and  there  they  stood :  the  male,  his  crest  and  all  the 
hair  along  the  spine  erect  with  anger  at  our  intrusion, 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  145 

his  tail  swinging  and  curling  with  excitement;  beside 
him,  and  half  behind  him,  the  female  crouching  low  on 
the  ground,  her  ears  laid  back  along  the  head,  and  mo- 
tionless as  a  carved  stone.  My  ass  saw  the  pair,  and 
instinct  warning  it  that  the  beautiful  beasts  were  danger- 
ous to  it,  with  that  want  of  judgment  and  consideration 
so  characteristic  of  asses,  it  must  needs  bray.  And  such 
a  bray !  At  every  hee  it  pumped  up  enough  air  from 
its  lungs  to  have  contented  an  organ,  and  at  every  haw 
it  vented  a  shattering  blast  to  which  all  the  slogans  of 
all  the  clans  were  mere  puling.  It  bra3*ed  its  very  soul 
out  in  the  suddenness  of  the  terror.  The  effect  on  the 
leopards  was  instant  and  complete.  There  was  just  one 
lightning  flash  of  color,  —  a  yellow  streak  across  the 
space  before  me,  and  plump  !  the  splendid  pair  soused 
into  a  murderous  tangle  of  creeping  palms.  That  they 
could  ever  have  got  out  of  the  awful  trap,  with  its  mil- 
lions of  strong  spines  barbed  like  fish-hooks  and  as 
strong  as  steel,  is  probably  impossible  ;  but  the  magnifi- 
cent promptitude  of  the  suicide,  its  picturesque  com- 
pleteness, was  undeniable. 

The  ass,  however,  was  by  no  means  soothed  by  the 
meteor-like  disappearance  of  the  beasts  of  prey,  and 
the  gruesome  dronings  that,  in  spite  of  hard  whacks,  it 
indulged  in  for  many  minutes,  betrayed  the  depth  of  its 
emotions  and  the  cavernous  nature  of  its  interior  organ- 
ization. The  ass,  like  the  savage,  has  no  perception  of 
the  picturesque. 

After  the  morning  meal  I  allowed  a  three  hours'  rest, 
and  in  knots  of  twos  and  threes  along  the  line,  the  party 
sat  down,  talking  in  subdued  tones  (for  silence  was  the 
order  of  the  march) ,  or  comfortably  snoozing.  I  slept 
myself  as  well  as  my  aching  arm  would  let  me.  The 

10 


146  Unnatural  History. 

march  resumed,  I  wheeled  the  line  with  its  front  due  west, 
and  after  another  two  hours'  rapid  advance  we  found  our- 
selves again  at  the  river,  some  seven  miles  farther  down 
its  course  than  the  point  from  which  we  had  started  in 
the  morning ;  and  after  a  hurried  meal,  I  gave  the  order 
for  home.  Striking  southeasterly,  we  crossed  in  our 
fifth  mile  the  track  of  the  morning,  and  in  the  thirteenth 
reached  our  camp.  By  this  means  it  will  be  seen  we  had 
effectually  triangulated  a  third  of  a  circle  of  eleven  miles 
radius  from  our  camp  —  and  with  absolute!}'  no  result. 
During  the  next  two  days  I  determined  to  scour,  if  pos- 
sible, the  remaining  semicircle.  Meanwhile,  we  were  at 
the  point  we  had  started  from,  and  though  it  was  nearly 
certain  that  at  any  rate  one  Soko  was  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, we  had  fatigued  ourselves  with  nearly  seventy 
miles  of  marching  without  finding  a  trace  of  it. 

As  nothing  was  required  from  our  concealed  store,  we 
had  only  to  eat  and  go  to  sleep  ;  and  so  the  men,  after 
laughing  together  for  a  while  over  the  snug  arrangements 
I  had  made  for  the  safety  of  our  goods,  and  pretending 
to  have  doubts  as  to  this  being  the  real  site  of  the  hidden 
property  of  the  expedition,  were  soon  asleep  in  a  batch. 
I  went  to  sleep  too  ;  not  a  sound  sleep,  for  I  could  not 
drive  from  my  memory  the  hideous  recollection  of  that 
evening,  only  two  days  before,  when,  nearly  in  the  same 
spot  I  was  lying  in  the  Soko's  power.  And  thinking 
about  it,  I  got  so  restless  that,  under  the  irresistible  im- 
pression that  some  supernatural  presence  was  about  me, 
I  unpegged  my  mosquito  net,  and  getting  up,  began  to 
pace  about.  I  wore  at  nights  a  long  Cashmere  dressing- 
gown,  in  lieu  of  the  tighter  canvas  coat.  I  had  been 
leaning  against  a  tree  ;  but  feeling  that  the  moisture  that 
trickled  down  the  trunk  was  soaking  my  back,  I  was  mov- 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  147 

ing  off,  when  my  ears  were  nearly  split  by  a  shout  from 
behind  me — "  Soko  !  Soko  !  "  and  the  next  instant  I 
found  mj'self  flung  violently  to  the  ground,  and  strug- 
gling with  —  Mabruki !  The  pain  caused  by  the  sudden 
fall  at  first  made  me  furious  at  the  mistake  that  had 
been  made ;  but  the  next  instant,  when  the  whole  ab- 
surdity of  the  position  came  upon  me,  I  roared  with 
laughter. 

The  savage  is  very  quickly  infected  by  mirth,  and  in  a 
minute,  as  soon  as  the  story  got  round  how  Mabruki  had 
jumped  upon  the  master  for  a  Soko,  the  whole  camp 
was  in  fits  of  laughter.  Sleep  was  out  of  the  question 
with  my  aching  back  and  aching  sides ;  and  so,  mixing 
myself  some  grog  and  lighting  my  pipe,  I  made  Mabruki 
shampoo  my  limbs  with  oil.  While  he  did  so  he  began 
to  talk,— 

"  Does  the  master  ever  see  devils?  " 

"Devils?    No." 

"  Mabruki  does,  and  all  the  Wanyamwazi  of  his  vil- 
lage do,  for  his  village  elders  are  the  keepers  of  the  charm 
against  evil  spirits  of  the  whole  land  of  Unj-amwazi, 
and  they  often  see  them.  -I  saw  a  devil  to-night." 

"  "Was  the  devil  like  a  Soko?  "  I  asked,  'laughing. 

"  Yes,  master,"  he  replied,  "  like  a  Soko  ;  but  I  was 
always  asleep,  and  never  saw  it,  but  whenever  it  came 
to  me  it  said,  '  I  am  here,'  and  then  at  last  I  got  fright- 
ened and  got  up,  and  then  I  saw  }'ou,  master,  and  "  — 

But  we  were  both  laughing  again,  and  Mabruki 
stopped. 

It  was  strange  that  he,  too,  should  have  felt  the  same 
uncanny  presence  that  had  afflicted  me.  But  under 
Mabruki's  manipulation  I  soon  fell  asleep.  I  awoke 
with  a  start.  Mabruki  had  gone.  But  much  the  same 


148  Unnatural  History. 

inexplicable,  restless  feeling  that  men  say  they  have  felt 
under  ghostly  visitations,  impelled  me  to  get  up,  and 
this  time,  lighting  a  pipe  to  prevent  mistakes,  I  resumed 
my  sauntering,  and  tired  at  last  of  being  alone,  I  awoke 
my  men  for  the  start,  although  day  was  not  yet  break- 
ing. Half-asleep  a  meal  was  soon  discussed,  and  in  an 
hour  we  were  again  on  the  move.  Shumari  had  lagged 
behind,  as  usual,  and  on  his  coming  up  I  reproved  him 
for  being  the  last. 

"  I  am  not  the  last,"  he  said;  "  Zaidi,  the  Wang- 
wana,  is  not  here  yet.  I  saw  him  climbing  up  for  a 
liane  "  (the  men  got  their  ropes  from  these  useful  plants) 
"just  as  I  was  coming  awaj",  and  I  called  out  to  him 
that  you  would  be  angry." 

"  Peace  ! "  said  Baraka.  the  man  next  to  me  ;  "is  not 
that  Zaidi  the  Wangwana  there,  riding  on  the  ass?  It 
was  not  he.  It  was  that  good-for-nothing  Tarya.  He 
is  alwaj's  the  last  to  stand  up  and  the  first  to  sit  down." 

"No  doubt,  then,"  said  Shumari,  "it  was  Tarya; 
shame  on  him.  He  is  no  bigger  than  Zaidi,  and  has 
hair  like  his.  Besides,  it  was  in  the  mist  I  saw  him." 

But  I  had  heard  enough-— the  nervousness  of  the 
night  still  afflicted  me. 

"  Sound  the  halt !  "  I  cried ;  "  call  the  men  together." 

In  three  minutes  all  were  grouped  round  me  —  not 
one  was  missing !  Tan~a  was  far  ahead,  riding  on  an 
ass,  and  had  therefore  been  one  of  the  first  to  start. 

"Who  was  the  last  to  leave  camp?"  I  asked,  and 
by  the  unanimous  voice  it  was  agreed  to  be  Shumari 
himself. 

Shumari,  then,  had  seen  the  Soko !  and  our  store- 
house was  the  Soko's  home  ! 

The  rest  of  the  men  had  not  heard  the  preceding 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  149 

conversation,  so,  putting  them  in  possession  of  the  facts, 
I  gave  the  order  for  returning  to  our  camp.  We  ap- 
proached. I  halted  the  whole  party,  and  binding  up 
the  asses'  mouths  with  cloths,  we  tied  them  to  a  stout 
liane,  and  then  dividing  the  party  into  two,  led  one 
myself  round  to  the  south  side  of  the  camp  by  a  detour, 
k-jiving  the  other  about  half  a  mile  to  the  north  of  it, 
with  orders  to  rush  towards  the  canebrake  and  sur- 
round it  at  a  hundred  yards'  distance  as  soon  as  they 
heard  my  bugle.  Passing  swiftly  round,  we  were  soon 
in  our  places,  and  then,  deploying  my  men  on  either 
side  so  as  to  cover  a  semicircle,  I  sounded  the  bugle. 
The  response  came  on  the  instant,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
there  was  a  cordon  round  the  brake  at  one  hundred 
yards  radius,  each  man  about  twenty  yards  or  so  from 
the  next.  But  all  was  silent  as  the  grave.  As  yet 
nothing  had  got  through  our  line,  I  felt  sure ;  and  if 
therefore  Shumari  had  indeed  seen  the  Soko,  the  Soko 
was  still  within  the  circle  of  our  guns.  A  few  tufts  of 
young  rattan  grew  between  the  line  and  the  brake  in 
the  centre  of  which  were  our  goods,  and  unless  it  was 
up  above  us,  hidden  in  the  impervious  canopy  over- 
head, where  was  the  Soko?  A  shot  was  fired  into  each 
tuft,  and  in  breathless  excitement  the  circle  began  to 
close  in  upon  the  brake. 

"  Let  us  fire  !  "  cried  Mabruki. 

"  No,  no  !  "  I  shouted,  for  the  bullets  would  perhaps 
have  whistled  through  the  lianes  amongst  ourselves. 
"  Catch  the  Soko  alive  if  you  can." 

But  first  we  had  to  sight  the  Soko,  and  this,  in  an 
absolute!}'  impenetrable  clump  of  rope-thick  creepers, 
was  impossible,  except  from  above. 

Shumari,   as   agile   as   a  monkey,   was   called,  and 


150  Unnatural  History. 

ordered  to  climb  up  the  tree,  the  branches  of  which  had 
served  us  to  sliug  our  goods  into  the  brake,  and  to  see 
if  he  could  espy  the  intruder.  The  lad  did  not  like  the 
job ;  but  with  the  pluck  of  his  race  obeyed,  and  was 
soon  slung  up  over  the  bough,  and  creeping  along  it, 
overhung  the  centre  of  the  brake.  All  faces  were  up- 
turned towards  him  as  he  peered  down  within  the  wall 
of  vegetation.  For  many  minutes  there  was  sileuce, 
and  then  came  Shumari's  voice,  — 

"  No,  master,  I  cannot  see  the  Soko." 

"  Climb  on  to  the  big  liane,"  called  out  Mabruki. 
The  lad  obeyed,  and  made  his  way  from  knot  to  knot 
of  the  swinging  strand.  One  end  of  it  was  rooted  into 
the  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  inside  the  cane- 
brake,  the  other,  in  cable  thickness,  hanging  down  loose 
within  the  circle.  We,  watching,  saw  him  look  down, 
and  on  the  instant  heard  him  cry,  — 

"Ai!  ma-ma!  the  Soko,  the  Soko!"  and  while  the 
lad  spoke  we  saw  the  hanging  creeper  violently  jerked, 
and  then  swung  to  and  fro,  as  if  some  creature  of  huge 
strength  had  hold  of  the  loose  end  of  it  and  was  trying 
to  shake  Shumari  from  his  hold. 

"  Help  !  help,  master !  "  cried  Shumari.  "  I  am  fall- 
ing ; "  and  then  he  lost  his  hold,  and  fell  with  a  crash 
down  into  the  brake,  and  for  an  instant  we  held  our 
breath  to  listen  —  but  all  was  quiet  as  death.  The  next 
instant,  at  a  dozen  different  points,  axes  were  at  work 
clearing  the  lianes.  For  a  few  minutes  nothing  was  to 
be  heard  but  the  deep  breathing  of  the  straining  men 
and  the  crashing  of  the  branches  ;  and  then  on  a  sud- 
den, at  the  side  farthest  from  me,  came  a  shout  and  a 
shot,  a  confused  rush  of  frantic  animal  noises,  and  the 
sounds  of  a  fierce  struggle. 


Hunting  of  the  Soko.  151 

In  an  instant  I  was  round  the  brake,  and  there  lay 
Shumari,  apparently  unhurt,  and  the  Soko  —  dying ! 

"  Untie  his  hands,"  I  said.  This  was  done,  and  the 
wounded  thing  made  an  effort  to  stagger  to  its  feet. 

A  dozen  arins  thrust  it  to  the  grouad  again.  "Let 
him  rise,"  I  said;  "help  him  to  rise;"  and  Mabruki 
helped  the  Soko  on  to  its  feet. 

Powers  above !  If  this  were  an  ape,  what  else  were 
half  my  expedition?  The  wounded  wood-thing  passed 
its  right  arm  round  Mabruki's  neck,  and  taking  one  of 
his  hands,  pressed  it  to  its  own  heart.  A  deep  sob 
shook  its  frame,  and  then  it  lifted  back  its  head  and 
looked  in  turn  into  all  the  faces  round  it,  with  the  death- 
glaze  settling  fast  in  its  eyes.  I  came  nearer,  and  took 
its  hand  as  it  hung  on  Mabruki's  shoulder.  The 
muscles,  gradually  contracting  in  death,  made  it  seem 
as  if  there  was  a  gentle  pressure  of  my  palm,  and  then 
—  the  thing  died. 

Life  left  it  so  suddenly  that  we  could  not  believe  that 
all  was  over.  But  the  Soko  was  really  dead,  and  close 
to  where  he  lay  I  had  him  buried. 

"  Master  said  he  wanted  the  Soko's  skin,"  said  Shu- 
mai'i,  in  a  weak  voice,  reminding  me  of  my  words  of  a 
few  days  before. 

"No,  no,"  I  said;  "bury  the  wild  man  quickly. 
We  shall  march  at  once." 


152  Unnatural  History. 


ILL 

ELEPHANTS. 

They  are  Square  Animals  with  a  Leg  at  each  Corner  and  a  Tail 
at  both  Ends.  —  "  My  Lord  the  Elephant."  —  That  it  picks  up 
Pins.  —  The  Mammoth  as  a  Missionary  in  Africa.  —  An  Ele- 
phant Hunt  with  the  Prince.  —  Elephantine  Potentialities. — 
A  Mad  Giant  —  Bigness  not  of  Necessity  a  Virtue.  —  A  Digres- 
sion on  the  Meekness  of  Giants. 

ELEPHANTS   are  square  animals  with  a  leg  at 
each  corner  and  a  tail  at  both  ends.    This  may  be 
said  to  be  the  popular  description  of  the  Titan  among 
mammals. 

Nor  is  its  moral  character  more  accurately  summed 
up  by  the  crowd.  It  has,  indeed,  come  to  be  a  time- 
honored  custom  when  looking  at  Jumbo,  the  elephant 
which  Barnum  has  bought  from  "  the  Zoo"  in  London, 
to  applaud  first  its  sagacity,  as  evidenced,  they  say, 
in  that  old  story  of  the  tailor  who  pricked  an  elephant's 
trunk  with  his  imprudent  needle  ;  next,  its  docility,  as 
shown  (so  the  crowd  would  have  us  believe)  b}'  its 
carrying  children  about  on  its  back  ;  in  the  third  place 
the  great  sensitiveness  of  its  trunk,  inasmuch  as  it  can 
pick  up  a  pin  with  it ;  and,  finally,  its  great  size.  After 
this,  nothing  apparently  remains  but  to  congratulate  our- 
selves, in  a  lofty  waj',  upon  having  thus  comprehen- 
sively traversed  all  the  elephant's  claims  to  respect,  and 
to  pass  on  to  the  next  beast  in  the  show. 


Elephants.  153 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  nothing  could  well  be  more 
offensive,  more  unsympathetic,  more  unworthy  of  the 
elephant,  than  this  stereotyped  formula  of  admiration. 
That  an  elephant  did  once  so  unbecomingly  demean 
himself  as  to  squirt  the  contents  of  a  puddle  over  a 
tailor  and  his  shop  is  infinitely  discreditable  to  the 
gigantic  pachyderm ;  and  every  compliment  of  sagacity 
paid  to  it  on  account  of  that  dirty  street-boy  trick  is  an 
affront  to  the  lordly  beast  which  ranks  to-day,  in  the 
Belgian  expedition  to  Africa,  as  one  of  the  noblest 
pioneers  of  modern  commerce  and  the  greatest  of  living 
missionaries,  and  in  the  Afghan  war  as  one  of  the  most 
devoted  and  valued  of  her  Majesty's  servants  in  the 
East. 

His  docility,  again,  is  an  easy  cry,  for  was  not  Jumbo 
to  be  seen,  ever}'  da}'  of  the  week,  carrying  children  up 
and  down  a  path,  and  round  and  round  a  clump  of 
bushes,  backwards  and  forwards,  forwards  and  back- 
wards, without  doing  the  children  any  harm,  or  even 
needing  the  keeper's  voice  to  tell  him  when  a  fair  penny- 
worth of  ride  had  been  enjoyed?  But  upon  such  do- 
cility as  this  it  is  an  insult  to  found  respect,  for  surprise 
at  such  results  argues  a  prior  suspicion  that  the  elephant 
would  eat  the  children  or  run  amuck  among  the  visitors 
to  the  Zoological  Gardens.  Of  its  splendid  docility 
there  are  abundant  anecdotes,  and  among  them  are 
some  which  are  really  worthy  of  the  sole  living  rep- 
resentative of  the  family  of  the  mastodon  and  the 
mammoth. 

Such  a  one  is  the  old  Mahratta  story  of  the  standard- 
bearing  elephant  that  by  its  docility  won  a  great  victory 
for  its  master  the  Peishwa.  The  huge  embattled  beast 
was  carrying  on  its  back  the  royal  ensign,  the  .rallying- 


154  Unnatural  History. 

? 

point  of  the  Poona  host,  and  at  the  very  commence- 
ment of  the  engagement  the  elephant's  mahout,  just  as 
he  ordered  it  to  halt,  received  his  death  wound  and  fell 
off  its  back.  The  elephant,  in  obedience  to  his  order, 
stood  its  ground.  The  shock  of  battle  closed  round  it 
and  the  standard  it  carried,  and  the  uproar  of  contend- 
ing armies  filled  the  scene  with  unusual  terrors.  But 
the  elephant  never  moved  a  yard,  refusing  to  advance 
or  to  retire  the  standard  entrusted  to  it  by  so  much  as 
a  step  ;  and  the  Mahrattas,  seeing  the  flag  still  flying  in 
its  place,  would  not  believe  that  the  day  was  going 
against  them,  and  rallied  again  and  again  round  their 
immovable  standard-bearer.  Meanwhile  the  elephant 
stood  there  in  the  very  heart  of  the  conflict,  strain- 
ing its  ears  all  the  while  to  catch  above -the  din  of 
battle  the  sound  of  the  voice  which  would  never  speak 
again. 

And  soon  the  wave  of  war  passed  on,  leaving  the 
field  deserted  ;  and  though  the  Mahrattas  swept  by  in 
victorious  pursuit  of  the  now  routed  foe,  still  as  a  rock 
standing  out  from  the  ebbing  flood  was  the  elephant  in 
its  place,  with  the  slain  heaped  round  it,  and  the  stan- 
dard still  floating  above  its  castled  back !  For  three 
days  and  nights  it  remained  where  it  had. been  told  to 
remain,  and  neither  bribe  nor  threat  would  move  it,  till 
they  sent  to  the  village  on  the  Nerbudda,  a  hundred 
miles  away,  and  fetched  the  mahout's  little  son,  a  round- 
eyed,  lisping  child ;  and  then  at  last  the  hero  of  that 
victorious  day,  remembering  how  its  dead  master  had 
often  in  brief  absence  delegated  authority  to  the  child, 
confessed  its  allegiance,  and  with  the  shattered  battle 
harness  clanging  at  each  stately  stride,  swung  slowly 
along  the  road  behind  the  boj*. 


Elephants.  155 

Such  splendid  docility  as  this  —  the  docilit}-  which  in 
our  human  veterans  we  call  discipline  —  is  worth)'  of  our 
recollection  when  we  look  at  our  great  captives.  But 
why  should  we  offend  against  the  majesty  of  the  ele- 
phant by  applauding  him  for  carrying  children  to  and 
fro  unhurt?  A  bullock  could  not  do  less. 

Then,  again,  the  marvel  that  the  elephant  should 
pick  up  a  pin  !  It  can  do  so,  of  course,  but  it  is  a  pity 
that  it  should  ;  for  elephants  that  go  about  picking  up 
pins  derogate  something  from  their  dignity,  just  as 
much  as  those  others  who,  to  amuse  the  guests  of  Ger- 
manicus,  carried  a  comrade  on  a  litter  along  tight  ropes, 
and  executed  thereafter  a  Pyrrhic  dance.  It  is  surely 
preferable,  recalling  the  elephants  of  history,  to  forget 
these  unseemly  saltations  and  the  mocking  records  of 
JElian  and  of  Pliny,  and  to  remember  rather  that  one 
single  elephant  alone  sufficed  to  frighten  the  whole  na- 
tion of  Britons  into  fits ;  that  as  the  leaders  of  armies 
the}-  played  a  splendid  part  in  nearly  every  old-world 
invasion,  from  that  of  Bacchus  to  that  of  Hannibal ;  and 
that  their  classic  glories  and  the  traditions  of  their  in- 
telligent co-operation  with  men  have  invested  them  with 
special  sanctity  for  millions  of  men  and  women  in  the 
East.  How  magnificently  the}-  loom  out  from  the  mili- 
tary records  of  Pyrrhus  and  Mithridates,  Semiramis  and 
Alexander  and  Caesar ;  and  what  a  world  of  tender 
reverence  gathers  round  their  name  when  we  think  of 
them  to-day  as  the  objects  of  gentle  worship  in  India,  — 
"My  Lord  the  Elephant!"  To  took  at  an  elephant 
through  the  wrong  end  of  a  telescope  is  to  put  an  af- 
front upon  the  animal  to  whom  Asia  and  Africa  now 
appeal  for  an  assistance,  otherwise  impossible,  in  war 
and  in  commerce. 


156  Unnatural  History. 

It  was  they  who  dragged  to  Candahar  and  Cabul  the 
guns  that  shook  Shere  AH  from  his  Afghan  throne  and 
avenged  the  British  Envoy's  murder ;  and  now  they  are 
swinging  across  Africa  from  the  East  to  meet  the  steam- 
ers coming  up  the  Livingstone  from  the  West,  and  thus 
clasp  the  girdle  of  commerce  round  the  Dark  Continent. 

But  the  narrative  of  this  expedition  is  so  full,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  of  picturesque  interest,  that  I  think  it  may 
find  a  place  in  these  discursive  pages. 

The  animals,  then,  were  supplied  by  the  Poona  stud 
—  at  the  expense  of  the  King  of  the  Belgians  —  and  in 
marching  them  along  the  high  road  to  Bombay,  ele- 
phants being  common  objects  of  the  country  in  that 
presidenc}T,  no  exceptional  difficulties  presented  them- 
selves. 

Arrived,  however,  at  the  seashore,  where  elephants  do 
not  abound,  it  was  discovered  that  no  one  knew  what  to 
do  with  the  bulky  pachyderms,  or  how  to  get  them  off 
the  wharf  into  the  ship.  A  crowd  collected  round 
the  strangers,  and,  while  everybody  was  offering  advice, 
the  elephants  took  fright  and  charged  the  council,  who 
precipitately  fled.  To  a  practical  person,  who,  it  would 
appear,  had  remained  out  of  the  way  while  the  charging 
was  going  on,  it  then  suggested  itself,  that,  as  elephants 
had  been  slung  on  board  ship  during  the  Abyssinian 
war,  the}-  might  be  slung  again,  provided  the  gear  was 
of  elephantine  calibre.  The  weight  of  an  elephant, 
however,  was  an  unknown  quantit}',  but  a  general  aver- 
age of  twenty  tons  being  mooted  was  accepted  by  the 
company  as  a  safe  estimate  —  an  elephant  as  a  rule 
being  something  less  than  three  tons.  The  gear  was 
therefore  adapted  to  a  weight  of  twenty  tons,  and  the 


Elephants.  157 

mammoths,  being  got  into  position,  were  safely  slung 
on  board,  and  the  steamer  sailed. 

During  the  voyage  the  elephants  would  persist  in 
standing  up  all  day  and  night,  and  the  swaying  of  their 
huge  bodies  with  the  motion  of  the  ship  nearly  dislo- 
cated even  their  columnar  legs,  —  nearly  fractured  also 
the  timbers  of  the  deck.  But  at  last  they  were  urged 
into  kneeling  down,  while  a  judicious  .addition  of  props 
kept  the  deck  in  its  place :  and  thus  the  elephants  got 
safel}-  across  the  seas  to  Zanzibar.  Then  came  another 
difficult}- :  how  were  the  creatures  to  be  landed  ?  The 
ship  could  not  go  nearer  to  the  shore  than  two  miles, 
and  there  was  neither  raft,  nor  lighter,  nor  any  other 
appliance  for  transporting  them  to  land.  Could  they 
swim  ?  No  one  knew. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  try.  So  one  of 
the  monsters  —  its  name  was  the  Budding  Lily  and  it 
stood  ten  feet  high  —  was  gravely  dropped  overboard, 
with  a  man  on  its  back.  The  elephant  solemnly  sank 
until  the  man  was  under  water,  and  then  as  solemnly 
reappeared.  One  look  round  sufficed  to  explain  the 
position  to  the  poor  beast,  which,  hopeless  x>f  ever 
reaching  the  distant  shore,  turned  round  and  made 
frantic  efforts  to  get  on  board  again !  In  vain  the 
mahout  belabored  it.  The  elephant  kept  its  head 
against  the  ship's  side.  In  vain  the}'  tried  to  tow  it 
behind  a  boat,  for  though,  when  exhausted  with  strug- 
ling,  the  huge  bulk  was  dragged  a  short  distance,  re- 
turning strength  soon  enabled  it  to  drag  the  boat  back 
to  the  ship. 

And  so  for  an  hour,  rain  pelting  hard  all  the  time,  the 
wretched  monster  floundered  about  in  the  sea,  and 
scrambled  against  the  ship's  timbers,  now  floating  along- 


158  Unnatural  History. 

side  without  anjT  sign  of  life,  now  plunging  madly  round 
with  the  ridiculous  boat  in  tow.  That  it  would  have 
drowned  ultimately  seemed  beyond  doubt,  but  on  a 
sudden  the  great  thing's  intelligence  supplemented  that 
of  the  human  beings  who  were  with  it,  and  making  up 
its  mind  that  life  was  worth  another  effort,  and  that 
the  ship  was  unscalable,  the  elephant  began  to  swim. 
Again  and  again,  before  it  reached  the  first  sandbank, 
its  strength  or  pluck  failed ;  but  the  boat  was  always  at 
hand  to  encourage  or  irritate  it  to  renewed  exertions, 
and  so  at  last,  after  nearly  four  hours'  immersion,  the 
'first  Behemoth  got  on  shore.  Away  in  the  distance 
those  watching  from  the  ship  could  make  out  the  great 
black  bulk  creeping  up  the  sward.  Under  a  tree  close 
by  stood  its  attendant,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
monstrous  cakes  of  sugar,  rum,  flour,  and  spices  which 
had  been  prepared  for  it,  and  the  luxury  of  a  careful 
rubbing  down  with  warm  blankets,  the  Captain  Webb 
of  the  elephant  world  recovered  its  equanimity  and 
spirits. 

Her  companions,  the  Flower  Garland,  Beauty,  and 
the  Wonder-Inspirer,  emboldened  by  Budding  Lily's 
performance,  soon  joined  her  on  African  soil. 

The  object  of  their  deportation  was  twofold,  for  they 
had  in  the  first  place  to  prove,  in  their  own  persons,  the 
adaptability  of  their  kind  to  be  the  carriers  of  merchan- 
dise across  the  Centi'al  African  solitudes,  and  in  the  next 
to  tame  and  civilize  to  the  service  of  man  the  great 
herds  of  their  wild  congeners,  the  African  elephants, 
roaming  in  the  forests  through  which  the  highways  of 
Arab  trade  now  pass. 

There  is  very  little  difference  between  the  two  species, 
the  Indian  and  the  African.  The  latter  has  much  larger 


Elephants.  159 

ears  and  finer  tusks,  and  its  forehead  is  convex,  while 
the  Asiatic  animal  prefers  to  have  it  concave.  The 
African  elephant,  however,  is  as  amenable  to  discipline 
as  the  other.  For  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  the 
African  elephant  which  chai'ged  with  the  armies  of 
Hannibal  and  Pyrrhus,  and  danced  before  Nero  and 
Galba. 

He  is,  indeed,  a  truly  splendid  mammal,  a  remnant 
worthy  of  the  great  diluvian  period  when  giant  pachy- 
derms divided  among  them  the  empire  of  a  world  of 
mud.  He  remains,  like  the  one  colossal  ruin  of  the 
old  Egyptian  city,  to  remind  us  what  the  old  Africa  was 
like. 

But  the  world  of  trade  stands  in  need  to-day  of  .the 
African  elephant ;  and  out  of  his  stately  solitude,  there- 
fore, he  must  come  to  carry  from  the  forest  to  the  coast 
the  produce  which  our  markets  demand.  And  for  his 
capture  the  Arab  and  Zanzibar!  can  have  no  more  skilful 
assistants,  or  it  may  be  teachers,  than  the  veterans  of 
the  Indian  khedda  that  have  now  gone  out.  Many 
a  wild  tusker,  no  doubt,  has  Beauty  pommelled  into 
servility,  and  many  a  one  has  Budding  Lily  coaxed 
by  her  treacherous  blandishments  into  the  toils  of  the 
Philistines.  The  tame  females,  it  is  well  known,  seem 
to  take  a  positive  delight  in  betraying  the  Samsons  of 
the  jungle  into  slavery ;  for,  after  lavishing  their 
caresses  upon  them  till  they  have  tempted  them  within 
the  fatal  circle,  the}'  leave  them,  with  a  spiteful  thump 
at  parting,  to  the  mere}*  of  their  captors. 

When  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  in  India,  an  elephant- 
hunt  was  among  the  amusements  provided  for  his 
Royal  Highness  by  that  most  royal  of  entertainers,  and 
of  murderers,  Jung  Bahadur,  of  Nepal,  and  in  the  con- 


160  Unnatural  History. 

temporary  records  of  the  expedition,  full  justice  has 
been  done  to  that  thrilling  episode  of  the  Prince's 
visit.  The  heroes  of  the  capture  were  Jung  Pershad 
and  Bijli  Pershad.  The  former,  in  height,  weight,  and 
courage,  was  superior  to  all  the  eight  hundred  elephants 
of  the  Nepalese  stud,  while  Bijli,  "-The  Lightning," 
had  no  match  for  speed  and  pluck  combined.  The  first 
wild  tusker  sighted  was  a  magnificent  fellow,  sulking, 
and  fuming  in  a  clump  of  tall  jungle  grass,  and  when- 
ever he  charged  out  of  it  the  ordinary  fighting  ele- 
phants brought  up  at  first  against  him  fled  before  him. 
Then,  with  all  the  leisurely  solemnity  befitting  his  re- 
nown, old  Jung  Pershad  came  swinging  up.  But,  no 
sooner  had  the  huge  bruiser  hove  in  sight  than  the  wild 
giant,  measuring  him  at  a  glance,  confessed  his  master, 
and  fled  before  the  overpowering  presence.  The  grand 
old  gladiator  did  not  attempt  pursuit.  His  bulk  forbade 
it,  and  so  did  the  etiquette  of  his  profession. 

To  his  friend  and  colleague  in  many  a  previous  fight, 
Bijli  the  swift-footed,  pertained  the  privilege  of  pursuit, 
and  from  the  moment  when  the  quarry  perceived  the 
strangely  rapid  advance  of  his  new  antagonist,  he  rec- 
cognized  the  gravity  of  his  peril.  Flight  from  Bijli  was 
as  vain  as  contest  with  Jung.  So  he  swung  round  in 
his  stride,  and  for  full  two  minutes  the  pursuer  and 
pursued  stood  absolutely  motionless  and  silent,  face  to 
face.  And  then,  on  a  sudden  and  with  one  accord, 
"  with  their  trunks  upraised  and  their  great  ears  spread, 
and  with  a  crash  like  two  rocks  falling  together,  the 
giants  rushed  upon  each  other.  There  was  no  reser- 
vation about  that  charge :  they  came  together  with  all 
their  weight,  and  all  their  speed,  and  all  their  heart." 
But  the  skill  that  comes  of  practice  gave  the  pro- 


Elephants.  161 

fessional  just  the  one  point  he  needed  to  beat  so 
splendid  an  amateur;  and  he  beat  him  "by  some- 
times ramming  him  against  a  tree,  sometimes  poking 
him  in  the  side  so  as  almost  to  knock  him  over,  some- 
times raising  his  trunk  above  his  head,  and  bringing  it 
clown  on  the  poor  tusker's  neck.  At  last  the  wild  ele- 
phant fairly  gave  up,  surrendered,  and  made  no  further 
pretence  of  either  fighting  or  flying." 

Henceforth,  in  far  other  scenes,  other  Jung  Pershads 
and  other  Bijlis,  mighty  in  battle,  will  win  renown,  and, 
winning  it,  will  do  for  Central  Africa  what  the  camel 
has  done  for  Central  Asia,  and  what  ships  have  done 
fur  all  the  world's  coasts.  They  will  be  the  pioneers  of 
trade,  true  missionaries,  Asia's  contingent  in  the  little 
army  that  has  set  out  to  conquer,  but  without  blood- 
shed, the  desperate  savagery  of  the  Dark  Continent. 

At  any  rate  it  was  a  finely  picturesque  conception, 
this  of  compelling  the  Behemoths  of  the  Indian  jungles 
to  serve  in  the  subjection  of  the  Titans  of  the  African 
forests,  and  to  bring  face  to  face,  in  the  centre  of 
a  continent,  the  two  sole  survivors  of  a  once  mighty 
order ;  and  I  could  never  look  at  Jumbo  lounging  along 
the  path  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  without  thinking 
also  of  his  noble  kinsmen  working  their  way  in  the 
cause  of  civilization  and  of  man  across  the  Dark  Con- 
tinent. 

Sagacity  and  docility  are,  no  doubt,  therefore,  virtues 
which  the  elephant  shares  with  man,  but  it  is  hardly 
fair  to  it  to  illustrate  its  intelligence  by  quoting  the  de- 
plorable incident  of  the  tailor,  unless  we  are  also  pre- 
pared to  illustrate  the  sagacity  of  men  and  women  by 
referring  to  the  performances  of  the  Artful  Dodger. 

11 


162  Unnatural  History. 

Let  us  rather  generously  forget  that  elephantine  lapse, 
just  as  we  remember  that,  after  all,  Noah  —  in  that 
"  aged  surprisal  of  six  hundred  years"  only  got  drunk 
once. 

Nor,  when  we  speak  loftily  of  the  elephant's  docility, 
should  we  forget  that  the  measure  of  this  virtue  may  be 
gauged  by  the  individual's  capacities  for  the  reverse.  A 
white  mouse  is  one  of  the  most  docile  of  animals,  but 
what  would  it  matter  if  it  were  not?  A  pinch  of  the 
tail  would  always  suffice  to  frighten  it  into  abject  sub- 
mission. But  when  the  sagacious  elephant  decides  for 
itself,  as  it  often  does,  that  docility  is  not  worth  the  can- 
dle, that  occasional  turbulence,  good-all-round  rebellion, 
is  wholesome  for  its  temper  and  constitution,  —  who  is 
going  to  pinch  its  tail?  With  one  swing  of  its  trunk  it 
lays  all  the  attendants  flat,  butts  its  head  through  an 
inconvenient  wall,  and  is  free  !  They  are  brave  -men 
who  capture  the  wild  elephants,  but  no  one,  however 
brave,  tries  to  capture  a  mad  one.  It  has  to  be  shot 
in  its  tracks,  dropped  standing,  for  it  is  then  something 
more  than  a  mere  wild  animal.  It  has  developed  into  a 
creature  of  deliberate  will  and,  having  in  its  own  mind 
weighed  the  pros  and  cons,  has  come  to  the  fixed  con- 
clusion that  captivit}'  is  a  mistake,  and  proceeds  there- 
fore on  a  definite  line  of  intelligent  and  malignant 
action. 

Indeed,  among  the  episodes  of  Indian  rural  life  there 
are  few  more  appalling  than  such  a  one  as  that  of  the 
Mad  Elephant  of  Mundla.  It  had  been  for  many  years 
a  docile  inmate  of  a  government  stud,  but  one  day 
made  up  its  mind  to  be  infamous.  Wise  men  have  be- 
fore now  told  the  world  that  it  is  well  to  be  drunk  once 
a  month,  and  others  that  we  should  not  always  abstain 


Elephants.  163 

from  that  which  is  hurtful ;  so  the  elephant,  determining 
upon  a  bout  of  wrong-doing,  had  some  precedent  to 
excuse  him.  The  elephantine  proportions  of  his  misde- 
meanors, however,  made  his  lapse  from  docility  appal- 
ling to  mere  men  and  women  whose  individual  wicked 
acts  are  naturally  on  so  diminutive  a  scale ;  but,  com- 
paratively speaking,  the  gigantic  mammal  was  simply 
"  on  the  spree."  Neverthless,  it  desolated  villages 
with  nearly  every  horrible  circumstance  of  cruelty 
lately  practised  by  the  Christians  of  Bulgaria,  and  laid 
its  plans  with  such  consummate  cunning  that  skilled 
police,  well  mounted  and  patrolling  the  country,  were 
baffled  for  many  days  in  their  pursuit  of  the  midnight 
terror.  It  came  and  went  with  extraordinary  secrecy 
and  speed  from  point  to  point,  leaving  none  alive  upon 
the  high  roads  to  tell  the  pursuers  which  way  it  had 
gone,  and  only  a  smashed  village  and  trampled  corpses 
to  show  where  it  had  last  appeared.  It  confused  its 
own  tracks  by  doubling  upon  its  pursuers  and  crossing 
the  spoor  of  the  elephants  that  accompanied  them. 

It  was  not  merely  wild.  It  was  also  mad — and  as 
cunning  and  as  cruel  as  a  mad  man. 

But  insanity  itself  may  be  accepted,  if  you  like,  as  a 
tribute  to  the  animal's  intelligence,  for  sudden  downright 
madness  presumes  strong  brain  power.  Owls  never  go 
mad.  They  ma}-  go  silly,  or  they  ma}'  be  born  idiots  ; 
but,  as  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  533*8,  a  weak  mind  does 
not  accumulate  force  enough  to  hurt  itself.  Stupidity 
often  saves  a  man  from  insanity. 

It  is  also  curious  to  notice  how  the  size  of  Jumbo 
strikes  so  man}-  as  being  somehow  very  creditable  to 
Behemoth.  But  praise  of  such  a  kind  is  hardly  worth  the 


164  Unnatural  History. 

acceptance  of  even  the  hippopotamus.  "The  wisdom 
of  God,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "  receives  small  honor 
from  those  vulgar  heads  that  rudely  stare  about  and, 
with  a  gross  rusticity,  admire  His  works ; "  and  it  is 
certainly  gross  rusticity  to  attribute  credit  to  the  ele- 
phant for  being  big.  After  all,  he  is  not  so  big  as  other 
creatures  living,  nor  as  he  himself  might  have  been  a  few 
centuries  ago.  Moreover,  though  giants  seem  always 
popular,  there  is  little  virtue  in  mere  size.  The  whale, 
driving  along  through  vast  ocean  spaces,  displaces,  it  is 
true,  prodigious  quantities  of  water,  but  the  only  admi- 
rable points  about  him,  nevertheless,  are  his  whalebone 
and  his  blubber.  He  is  simply  a  wild  oil  barrel,  and  the 
more  cheaply  he  can  be  caught  and  bottled  off  the  better. 

But  speaking  of  personal  bulk  as  a  feature  to  be 
complimented,  there  is  an  illustration  at  my  hand  here  in 
the  next  enclosure  —  for  who  could  honestly  congratu- 
late the  hippopotamus  upon  its  proportions? 

Men  ought  to  have  a  grudge  against  this  inflated 
monster,  for  it  is  one  of  the  happiest  and  most  use- 
less of  living  things.  Its  happiness  in  a  natural  state 
is  simply  abominable  when  taken  in  connection  with  its 
worthlessness  ;  and  the  rhinoceros,  next  door  there,  is 
no  better.  Providence,  to  quote  the  well  known  judge, 
has  given  them  health  and  strength  —  "  instead  of  which," 
they  go  about  munching  vegetables  and  wallowing  in 
warm  pools.  They  do  absolutely  nothing  for  their  liveli- 
hood, except  now  and  then  affront  the  elephant.  Even 
for  this  the  hippopotamus  is  too  sensual  and  too  indo- 
lent ;  but  the  rhinoceros  often  presumes  to  hold  the  path 
against  the  King  of  the  Forests.  Their  bulk,  therefore, 
is  either  abused  by  them  or  wasted,  so  that  their  mon- 
strous size  and  strength  really  become  a  reproach. 


Elephants.  165 

With  the  elephant  it  is  very  different.  Every  ounce  of 
his  weight  goes  to  the  help  of  man,  and  every  inch  of 
his  stature  to  his  service. 

I  have  said  above  that  giants  are  always  popular, 
and  as  perhaps  the  observation  may  be  contested  in 
the  nursery,  I  would  here,  in  the  chapter  on  gigantic 
animals,  interpolate  my  defence.  Once  upon  a  time,  and 
not  so  long  ago  either,  two  bulky  Irishmen  were  walk- 
ing in  San  Francisco,  when  they  met  a  foreigner  saunter- 
ing along  the  street.  Now  they  both  hated  foreigners, 
so  the}'  proceeded  to  assault  him,  whereupon  the  stranger 
took  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets,  and,  catching  hold  of 
the  two  Irishmen,  banged  their  bodies  together  until  they 
were  half  dead.  The  foreigner's  performance  drew  the 
attention  of  passers-by  to  him,  and  they  noticed, 
what  the  Irishmen  had  not  discovered  until  too  late,  that 
the  stranger  was  a  man  of  gigantic  plr^sical  strength. 
They  also  remarked  that  but  for  the  feat  he  had  per- 
formed this  Hercules  might  have  gone  to  and  fro  un- 
suspected, for  not  only  was  his  demeanor  modest  and 
unassuming,  but  his  face  wore  a  gentle  and  benevolent  ex- 
pression. He  was,  in  fact,  of  the  true  giant  breed,  reduced 
in  proportions  to  suit  modern  times,  but  having  about 
him,  nevertheless,  all  the  thews  and  the  inoffensive  dis- 
position of  the  original  Blunderbore. 

To  explain  my  meaning  further  I  need  only  refer  to 
the  history  of  that  overgrown  but  otherwise  estimable  per- 
son whose  lodgings  were  burglariously  entered  by  a  young 
person  named  Jack,  who  for  no  apparent  reason  —  such 
was  the  laxity  of  the  public  morals  in  those  days  — 
climbed  up,  so  we  are  asked  to  believe,  the  stalk  of  a 
leguminous  vegetable  of  the  bean  kind,  and,  having 


166  Unnatural  History. 

effected  a  forcible  entry  into  the  giant's  premises,  robbed 
the  amiable  but  stertorous  Blunderbore  of  the  most 
valuable  of  his  effects.  Here,  then,  is  a  case  in  point  of 
a  person  of  retiring  habits  being  assaulted  simply  because 
he  was  of  gigantic  size  and  strength,  and  of  the  public 
condoning  the  assault  on  that  account  alone.  It  is  con- 
tended, I  know,  that  Jack  was  incited  to  his  crimes  by  a 
cock-and-bull  story  about  the  giant's  castle  having  be- 
longed to  Jack's  father,  told  to  the  boy  by  an  old  woman 
whom  he  chanced  to  find  loitering  about  his  mo-ther's 
cottage,  —  with  one  eye,  depend  upon  it,  all  the  time  on 
the  linen  spread  out  on  the  hedge.  But  it  was  just  like 
the  vagabond's  impudence  to  foist  her  nonsense  on  a 
mere  child.  For  after  all,  how  could  Jack's  father  have 
had  a  castle  in  the  clouds,  unless  he  had  been  a  magi- 
cian?—  in  which  case  Jack  himself  was  little  better, 
and  his  mother,  by  presumption,  a  witch  ;  in  which  case 
they  ought  all  to  have  been  ducked  in  the  horse-pond 
together. 

Whether  this  Jack  was  the  same  person  who,  in  after- 
life, settled  down  to  industrious  habits,  and,  presumably 
unassisted,  built  a  House  for  himself,  chiefly  remarkable 
for  the  zoological  experiences  in  which  it  resulted,  I  am 
unable  to  determine.  But  looking  to  the  antecedents  of 
the  Giant-killer,  his  laziness  at  home,  and  his  unthrifty 
bargain  in  that  matter  of  his  mother's  cow,  I  should 
hesitate,  even  with  the  memory  of  Alcibiacles's  conversion 
to  Spartan  austerity  in  1113'  mind,  to  believe  in  such  a 
reformation  as  this,  of  a  young  burglar  turning  into  a 
middle-aged  and  respectable  householder.  In  the  mean 
time  it  is  noteworthy  that  the  Jack  of  the  Beanstalk 
was  a  boy  of  forward  and  larcenous  habits,  that  he 
committed  an  unprovoked  series  of  outrages  upon  a 


Elephants.  167 

giant  in  whose  house  he  had  been  well  treated,  and 
that  the  giant  was  an  affable  personage  of  great  sim- 
plicity of  mind  and  easily  amused,  kind  to  poultry  and 
fond  of  string  music. 

Indeed,  had  he  not  been  so  excessively  large  it  is  prob- 
able he  would  have  been  a  very  ordinary  person  in- 
deed. This,  at  any  rate,  seems  certain,  that  if  he  had 
been  any  smaller  he  would  not  have  been  either  so  simple 
or  so  shabbily  treated.  It  has  always  been  the  misfortune 
of  huge  stature  to  be  taken  advantage  of,  and  so  many 
men  of  strength  have  been  betrayed  and  brought  to 
grief  by  Jacks  and  Aladdins,  Omphales  and  Delilahs, 
that  it  has  come  to  be  understood  that  when  a  man  is 
preternatu rally  strong  he  should  be  also  extremely  un- 
assuming in  demeanor,  and  liable,  therefore,  to  unpro- 
voked aggression. 

It  has,  I  know,  been  gravely  endeavored,  by  a  certain 
class,  to  shake  the  world's  belief  in  the  existence  of 
giants,  but  the  attempt  has  been  fortunately  unsuccess- 
ful. No  argument,  however  ingenious,  erudite,  or 
forcible,  can  knock  out  of  sight  such  an  extremely  ob- 
vious fact  as  a  giant ;  and  I  consider,  therefore,  that 
Maclaurin,  who  attempted  to  demonstrate,  by  the 
destructive  method  and  mathematics,  the  impossibility 
of  giants,  might  have  saved  himself  the  labor  of  such 
profane  calculations.  The  destructive  argument,*  how- 
ever, I  confess,  has  this  much  in  its  favor,  that  it 
explains  win"  many  of  the.  Anakim  are  weak  in  the 
knees,  for,  inasmuch  as  the  forces  tending  to  destroy 
cohesion  in  masses  of  matter  arising  from  their  own 
gravity  only  increase  in  the  quadruplicate  ratio  of  their 
lengths,  the  opposite  forces,  tending  to  preserve  that 
cohesion,  increase  only  in  the  triplicate  ratio.  It  follows, 


168  UnrMtural  History. 

therefore,  that  if  we  only  make  the  giant  long  enough  he 
must,  by  mathematics,  go  at  the  knee  joints. 

Indeed,  in  our  own  modern  literature  will  be  found 
much  excellent  matter  with  regard  to  weak-kneed  giauts 
from  which  it  appears  that  the  show-frequenting  public 
take  no  delight  whatever  in  infirm  Goliaths  ;  and  those 
who  may  have  any  to  exhibit  will  do  better  to  put  the 
feeble-legged  Gogs  and  Magogs  to  useful  tasks  about  the 
house  or  back-garden  than  display  them  iu  public  for 
gain.  In  one  of  these  stories  the  giants,  when  they 
became  decrepid,  waited  upon  the  dwarfs  attached  to  the 
show.  The  tendency  to  mock  at  a  giant  becomes,  among 
the  lower  orders,  uncontrollable  when  Blunderbore  is 
shaky  in  the  lower  limbs  ;  and  under  these  circumstances, 
as  it  is  not  legal  to  make  away  with  giants  when  used  up, 
he  should  be  either  kept  in  entire  obscurity,  or  only  have 
the  uppermost  half  of  him  exhibited. 

This  inclination  to  make  fun  of  men  of  exceptionally 
large  stature  or  extraordinary  strength  may  be  due  to  a 
half-recognized  impression  on  the  mind  that  such  persons 
are  out  of  our  own  sphere,  superhuman,  and  preposterous. 
They  are  out  of  date,  too,  being,  as  it  were,  relics  of 
fables  and  the  representatives  of  a  past  world,  in  which 
the}*  kept  the  company  of  gnomes  and  dwarfs,  ogres, 
hobgoblins,  and  other  absurd  gentry  of  the  kind,  living 
irregular  lives,  perpetually  subject,  from  their  great  size, 
to  dangerous  accidents,  and,  as  a  rule,  coming  to  sud- 
den and  ridiculous  ends.  It  was  very  seldom,  indeed, 
that  a  giant  maintained  his  dignity  to  the  last,  and 
there  hangs,  therefore,  a  vapor  of  the  ludicrous  about 
the  memory  of  the  race,  so  that  nowadays  men  speak 
of  them  all  as  laughable  and  rather  foolish  folk. 

In  the  stories  which  are  so  precious  to  childhood, 


Elephants.  169 

giants,  when  they  have  not  got  ogresses  as  wives,  are 
never  objects  of  complete  aversion.  On  the  contrary, 
the  young  reader  rejoices  over  the  downfall  of  the  bulky 
one,  not  on  the  score  of  his  vices,  or  because  he 
deserves  his  fate,  but  because  the  child's  sympathies 
naturally  incline  towards  the  undersized  personages  of 
the  story ;  and  if  the  poor  blundering  old  giant  could 
be  only  brought  up  smiling  over  a  hasty  pudding  on  the 
last  page,  the  story  would  not  be  thought,  in  the  nursery, 
to  be  anj?  the  worse  for  that  —  so  long,  of  course,  as 
there  was  no  doubt  left  in  anybody's  mind  as  to  Jack 
being  able  to  kill  Blunderbore  again,  should  Blunder- 
bore's  conduct  again  justify  his  destruction.  Some- 
times, I  regret  to  remember,  the  giants  went  about 
collecting  children  for  pies,  and  from  such  as  these  all 
right-minded  men  should  withhold  their  esteem ;  but 
for  the  rest,  the  ordinary  muscular  and  inoffensive 
giant,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  a  certain  liking,  nor, 
when  he  is  provoked  to  display  his  strength,  a  great 
admiration. 


170  Unnatural  History. 


IV. 

THE  ELEPHANT'S  FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN. 

The  Rhinoceros  a  Victim  of  Hl-Natured  Personality.  —  In  the 
Glacial  Period.  —  The  Hippopotamus.  —  Popular  Sympathy 
with  it. —  Behemoth  a  Useless  Person.  —  Extinct  Monsters  and 
the  World  they  Lived  in.  —  The  Impossible  Giraffe.  —  Its  In- 
telligent use  of  its  Head  as  a  Hammer.  —  The  Advantages  and 
Disadvantages  of  so  much  Neck. — Its  High  Living.  —  The 
Zebra.  —  Nature's  Parsimony  in  the  matter  of  Paint  on  the 
Skins  of  Animals.  —  Some  Suggestions  towards  more  Gayety. 

T^LEPIIANTS,  there  is  no  doubt,  are  favorites 
.I  j  with  the  public,  and  the}'  merit  their  popularity. 
It  is  difficult,  perhaps,  to  say  as  much  for  their  cousins, 
the  rhinoceroses.  For  some  reason  or  another,  the 
public  resent  the  personal  appearance  of  these  animals, 
and  no  one  compliments  them.  Straightforward  oppro- 
brium is  bad  enough,  no  doubt,  but  depreciatory  in- 
nuendo is  still  harder  to  bear,  just  as  the  old  writer  tells 
us,  in  the  matter  of  the  patient  patriarch,  that  "  the 
oblique  expostulations  of  his  friends  were  a  deeper 
injury  to  Job  than  the  downright  blows  of  the  Devil." 

A  rhinoceros,  therefore,  when  he  stands  at  the  bars 
with  his  mouth  open  in  expectation  of  the  donation 
which  is  seldom  thrown  in,  hears  much  that  must  em- 
bitter his  hours  of  solitary  reflection.  The  remarks  of 
visitors  are  never  relieved  by  any  reference  to  his 
sagacity  or  docility,  as  in  the  case  of  the  elephant ;  nor 


The  Elephant's  Fellow- Countrymen.          171 

does  an}-  appreciation  of  usefulness  to  man  temper  the 
severity1  of  their  judgments  upon  him.  That  he  is  very 
ugly  and  looks  very  wicked  is  the  burden  of  all  criticism, 
and  it  is  a  wonder  that  under  such  perpetual  provocation 
to  do  so  he  does  not  grow  uglier  and  look  wickeder 
than  he  is.  No  ordinary  man  could  go  on  being  called 
"  a  hideous  brute  "  for  any  great  number  of  years  with- 
out assuming  a  truculent  and  unlovable  aspect ;  and  it 
would  not,  therefore,  be  much  matter  for  surprise  if  the 
rhinoceros,  although  such  conduct  were  altogether 
foreign  to  his  character,  and  even  distasteful  to  his  feel- 
ings, should  develop  a  taste  for  human  flesh. 

As  it  is,  he  munches  hay  —  not  with  any  enthusiasm, 
it  is  true,  but  with  a  subdued  satisfaction  that  bespeaks 
a  philosophic  and  contented  mind. 

In  the  wild  state,  whether  he  be  the  African  species  or 
the  Asiatic,  the  rhinoceros  is  a  laz}',  quiet-loving  beast, 
passing  his  days  in  slumber  in  some  secluded  swamp  of 
reed-bed,  and  coming  out  at  night  to  browse  along  the 
wild  pastures  that  offer  themselves  on  forest  edges  or 
the  water-side.  In  his  caged  condition  his  life  is  simply 
reversed,  for  his  da}-s  are  spent  under  the  public  eye,  in 
wakefulness  and  mental  irritation,  while  his  nights  are 
given  unnaturally  to  repose  and  solitude.  There  are  no 
succulent  expanses  of  grass  and  river  herbage  to  tempt 
him  abroad  with  his  fellows,  as  in  the  nights  of  liberty  in 
Nubia  or  Assam ;  and  let  the  moonlight  be  ever  so 
bright  he  cannot  now,  as  once,  saunter  away  for  miles 
along  the  lush  banks  of  some  Javan  stream,  or  loiter 
feeding  .among  the  squashy  brakes  of  the  Nile.  But 
captivity,  if  it  robs  him  of  freedom,  injures  the  rhi- 
noceros less  than  most  of  the  beasts  of  the  field,  for  he 
was  never  given  to  much  exercise,  and  his  life  was  an 


172  Unnatural  History. 

indolent  one.  Now  and  again,  it  is  true,  the  hunters 
found  him  out,  and  awakened  him  to  an  unusual  viva- 
city, and  on  such  occasions  he  developed  a  nimbleness 
of  limb  and  ferocity  of  temper  that  might  hardly  have 
been  expected  of  so  bulky  and  retiring  an  individual. 
Sometimes  also  he  crossed  the  elephant  on  his  jungle 
path,  and  in  a  sudden  rush  upon  his  noble  kinsman  vin- 
dicated his  right  of  way,  and  expended  all  the  stored- 
up  energy  of  many  months  of  luxurious  idleness.  But 
such  sensations  were  few  and  far  between.  As  a  rule, 
his  company  were  diminutive  and  deferential  —  wading 
birds  of  cautious  habits,  and  the  deliberative  pelicans, 
wild  pigs,  and  creatures  of  the  ichneumon  kind.  The 
great  carnivora  never  troubled  their  heads  about  such  a 
preposterous  victim,  and  the  nations  of  the  deer  kind, 
couching  by  day  in  the  forest  depths  and  feeding  by 
night  in  the  open  plain,  saw  nothing  of  the  bulk}'  rhi- 
noceros. He  lived  therefore  in  virtual  solitude,  —  for 
water-fowl  and  weasels  were  hardly  worth  calling  com- 
panions, —  and  was  indeed  so  vigilant  in  guarding  his 
concealment  that  he  remained  a  secret  for  ages. 

The  rhinoceros,  therefore,  figures  nowhere  in  folk-lore, 
and  neither  fairy  tale  nor  fable  has  an}'thing  to  tell  us 
of  it.  Art  owes  little  to  it,  and  commerce  nothing.  It 
points  no  moral  and  adorns  no  tale.  Unassisted  by  as- 
sociations, and  possessing  neither  a  literature  nor  a  place 
in  the  fauna  of  fancy,  the  monstrous  thing  relies  for 
sympathy  and  regard  simpry  upon  its  merits,  and  these 
have  sadly  failed  to  ingratiate  it. 

With  the  hippopotamus  the  case  is  somewhat  differ- 
ent, for  the  apparently  defenceless  nature  of  the  river- 
horse  enlists  public  sympathy  on  his  behalf,  while  the 
very  absurdity  of  his  appearance  disarms  ill-natured 


The  Elephant's  Fellow-Countrymen.          173 

criticism.  The  horn  of  the  rhinoceros  is  its  ruin,  for 
the  popular  esteem  will  never  be  extended  to  a  creature 
that  carries  about  on  the  tip  of  his  nose  such  a  formidable 
implement  of  offence.  The  hippopotamus,  fortunately 
for  itself,  is  unarmed,  so  that  a  certain  compassionate 
regard  is  not  considered  out  of  place.  Its  skin,  though 
ludicrous,  looks  smooth  and  tight,  suggesting  vulnera- 
bility, or  even  a  tendency  to  burst  on  an}'  occasion  of 
violent  impact  with  a  foreign  body,  while  the  rhinoceros 
wears  an  ill-fitting  suit  of  impenetrable  leather,  which 
hangs  so  easily  upon  its  limbs  as  to  lead  the  spectators 
to  suppose  the  brute  had  deliberately  put  it  on  as  a  kind 
of  overcoat  for  defence  against  any  possible  assailants. 
Thus  prepared  for  emergencies,  it  carries  its  bulk  about 
with  a  self-reliant  demeanor  that,  taken  in  conjunction 
with  the  aggressive  tone  in  which  it  grunts,  alienates 
all  tenderness  of  feeling,  and  makes  sentiment  im- 
possible. 

The  hippopotamus,  on  the  other  hand,  seems  to  have 
had  all  its  arrangements  made  for  it  without  being  con- 
sulted beforehand,  and  to  submit  to  the  personal  incon- 
veniences that  result  with  a  mild  and  deprecatory 
manner  that  commends  it  to  sympathetic  consideration. 
Had  proofs  of  its  own  future  appearance  been  sent  in  to 
the  hippopotamus  to  revise,  it  might  have  suggested 
several  useful  alterations,  —  a  greater  length  of  leg  in 
order  to  keep  its  stomach  off  the  ground,  and  a  head 
on  such  a  reasonably  reduced  scale  that  it  could  hold 
it  up. 

As  matters  stand,  Behemoth  lives  under  considerable 
disadvantages.  It  is  true  that  he  is  amphibious,  and 
that  when  tired  of  dragging  his  bulky  person  about  on 
the  land  he  can  roll  into  the  water  and  float  there.  But 


174  Unnatural  History. 

this  dual  existence  hardty  makes  amends  for  the  dis- 
comforts of  such  a  bladder-like  body.  The  world,  how- 
ever, owes  both  the  hippopotamus  and  the  rhinoceros  a 
grudge,  inasmuch  as  neither  contributes  to  human  wel- 
fare. That  their  hides  make  good  leather  is  no  adequate 
justification  for  such  huge  entities,  and  the  fact  of  their 
teeth  and  horns  being  useful  for  paper-knives  and 
walking-sticks  hardly  authorizes  two  prodigious  crea- 
tures to  occupy  so  much  terrestrial  space.  It  is  centu- 
ries ago  since  the  elephant  made  good  its  claim  to  be 
considered  a  friend  and  benefactor  of  the  human  race, 
but  neither  of  its  great  companions  has  ever  bestirred 
itself  in  the  service  of  men.  Their  day,  perhaps,  is 
coming. 

Immense  tracts  of  country  are  being  now  opened 
up  in  Africa  to  the  world's  industries,  and  the  high- 
wa}'s  of  future  commerce  lie  right  through  the  homes 
of  the  rhinoceros  and  hippopotamus.  How  startling 
will  be  the  effect  upon  the  wild  creatures  of  the  forests 
and  the  rivers !  Long-established  nations  of  monkeys 
and  baboons  will  be  driven  by  the  busy  axe  from  the 
shades  they  have  haunted  for  generations,  and  as, 
league  after  league,  the  creepers  and  undergrowth  are 
cleared  away,  multitudes  of  animal  life  will  have  notice 
to  quit.  Progress  will  order  them  to  move  on,  and  so 
by  their  families  and  parishes  they  will  have  to  go,  —  the 
sulk}-  leopard-folk  and  solemn  lemurs,  troops  of  squirrel 
and  wild-cat,  and  the  weasels  by  their  tribes.  Diligent 
men  will  mow  down  the  cane-beds  that  have  housed 
centuries  of  crocodiles,  and  the  exquisite  islands  will  be 
cleared  of  jungle  that  human  beings  ma}'  take  possession 
of  the  ancestral  domains  of  the  lizard  kinds.  Wilder- 
nesses of  snakes  will  have  to  go,  and  out  of  the  giant 


Tlie  Elephant's  Fellow-Countrymen.          175 

reeds  flocks  of  great  water-fowl  will  rush  startled  from 
their  hiding-places.  Advancing  to  where  the  older 
timber  grows  and  the  nobler  plains  are  spread,  the 
colonist  will  disturb  the  bulky  rhinoceros  and  the  lordly 
elephant ;  and  in  the  creeks  of  river  and  lake  that  will 
come  under  man's  dominion  the  hippopotamus  will  find 
its  right  of  place  challenged.  The  time,  therefore,  it 
maj-  be,  is  not  far  distant  when  the  present  waste  of 
traction  power  will  cease,  and  the  two  monsters,  hitherto 
useless,  be  trained  to  drag  our  caravans  across  the 
plains  and  our  barges  down  the  rivers  of  the  Dark 
Continent. 

From  my  speaking  of  the  elephant  as  a  Mammoth, 
of  the  rhinoceros  as  a  Titan,  and  the  hippopotamus  as 
Behemoth,  you  might  fairly  charge  me,  reader,  with 
having  forgotten  that  these  animals,  big  as  we  think  them, 
are  really  after  all  only  the  pj-gmies  of  their  species. 
But  I  had  not  really  forgotten  it,  for  before  me  lies  a 
paragraph  announcing  the  discovery,  in  Siberia,  of  one 
of  those  colossal  animals,  which  nature  is  very  fond  of 
dropping  in,  in  a  casual  waj",  every  now  and  then,  just  to 
keep  our  pride  down  and  to  remind  us,  the  creatures  of  a 
degenerate  growth,  what  winter  meant  in  the  years  gone 
by,  and  what  kind  of  person  an  inhabitant  of  the  earth 
then  was. 

He  had  to  be  very  big  indeed,  very  strong,  and  very 
warmly  clad,  to  be  called  "the  fittest"  in  the  Glacial 
Period,  and  to  survive  the  fierce  assaults  of  the  Paleo- 
lithic cold.  This  rhinoceros,  therefore,  exceeds  b}*  some 
cubits  the  stature  of  the  modern  beast,  and  is  also  by 
some  tons  heavier. 

It  appears  that  an  affluent  of  the  Tana  River  was 
making  alterations  in  its  course,  and  in  so  doing  cut 


176  Unnatural  History. 

away  its  banks,  revealing  the  embedded  presence  of  a 
truly  Titanic  pachyderm,  which,  for  want  of  a  fitter  name, 
has  been  temporarily  called  a  rhinoceros.  But  it  is 
such  a  creature  that  if  it  were  to  show  itself  now  in  the 
swamps  of  Assam  or  on  the  plains  of  Central  Africa,  it 
would  terrify  off  its  path  all  the  species  of  the  present 
day,  whether  one-horned  or  two-horned,  and  make  no 
more  of  an  obstinate  elephant  than  an  avalanche  does 
of  a  goatherd's  hut  that  happens  to  stand  in  the  line  of 
its  advance.  Its  foot,  if  set  down  upon  one  of  the 
rhinoceroses  of  modern'  times,  would  have  flattened  it  as 
smooth  as  the  philosopher's  tub  rolled  out  those  naughty 
boys  of  Corinth,  who  had  ventured  to  tickle  the  cynic 
through  the  bunghole  with  a  straw.  Besides  its  size,  the 
huge  monster  in  question  asserts  its  superiority  over 
existing  species  by  being  clothed  in  long  hair,  a  fleece  to 
guard  it  against  the  climate  in  which  it  lived,  and  from 
which  even  the  tremendous  panoply  of  the  nineteenth- 
century  rhinoceros  could  not  sufficiently  protect  the 
wearer.  Thus  clad  in  a  woolly  hide  and  colossal  in 
physique,  the  Siberian  mammal  not  only  lived,  but  lived 
happily,  amid  snowy  glaciers  that  would  have  frozen  the 
polar  bear  and  made  icicles  of  Arctic  foxes. 

Perhaps  even  man  himself  did  not  exist  in  the  rhino- 
ceros's day  ;  at  any  rate,  if  he  did,  he  had  the  decency  to 
secrete  himself  in  holes  and  burrows,  and  when  the  mam- 
moths came  along  the  road  to  get  out  of  their  way.  lie 
was  a  feeble  creature  at  first,  and  his  best  accomplish- 
ments were  those  that  taught  him  how  to  escape  his  many 
foes,  for  our  ancestors  had  but  little  time  for  the  culti- 
vation of  other  arts  and  sciences  when  the  best  part  of 
their  days  and  nights  had  to  be  spent  in  scrambling  up 
trees  out  of  the  reach  of  prowling  carnivora,  and  running 


The  Elephant's  Fellow-Countrymen.  177 

away  from  ill-tempered  things  of  the  rhinoceros  and 
elephant  kind.  Gradually,  however,  he  began  to  defend 
himself,  and  from  defence  he  rose  at  last  to  the  dignity 
of  offence.  Armed  only  with  flint-stones,  he  had  the 
audacity,  this  progenitor  of  ours,  to  attack  the  bulky 
pachyderms  ;  and,  if  the  testimony  of  the  crags  and  clay 
may  be  believed,  he  actually  overcame  the  Goliaths  of 
the  forest  with  his  pebbles.  Were  it  not,  indeed,  for 
these  relics  of  the  age  of  flint  weapons,  it  might  be 
doubted  whether  man  was  ever  contemporary  in  Britain 
with  the  mammoth ;  but  as  matters  stand,  there  is  every 
reason  for  supposing  that  he  was.  Whether  this  juxta- 
position of  human  implements  and  animal  skeletons 
means  that  our  ancestors  slew  the  beast  or  that  the 
beast  ate  our  ancestors,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Proba- 
bly they  both  gave  and  took. 

It  was  an  age  of  silence  and  twilight  and  snow ;  an 
epoch  of  monsters. 

In  Australia  a  huge  marsupial,  with  the  head  of  an  ox, 
and  compared  to  which  our  kangaroo  is  only  a  great  rat, 
straddled  and  hopped  about  as  it  pleased,  in  the  company 
of  wombats  as  big  as  bears  ;  and  in  America  the  mega- 
therian  sloth  crept  browsing  among  the  forests  of  the 
primeval  continent,  like  some  bulky  thing  of  Dreamland, 
voiceless,  solitary,  and  slow-footed  ;  while  the  glyptodon 
-  the  wondrous  armadillo  of  the  past,  that  could  have 
driven  its  way  through  a  street  of  houses  as  easily  as  the 
mole  tunnels  through  the  furrows  of  a  field  —  wandered 
with  the  same  strange  loitering  pace  along  the  river 
banks.  In  those  da}"s  there  was  no  need  for  the  beasts 
to  hurry,  for  life  was  long  and  there  was  nothing  to  harm 
them  ;  so  they  crawled  about  on  land  and  waded  in  the 
water  as  lazily  as  they  pleased.  It  is  true  that  the  extinct 

12 


178  Unnatural  History. 

kangaroo,  as  big  as  a  hippopotamus  in  the  bod}*,  had  an 
enemy  in  the  pouched  lion ;  but  there  were  twenty 
kinds  of  lesser  kangaroos  which  the  carnivorous  beast 
could  attack  first ;  so  the  largest  lived  on  in  peace  and 
flourished,  growing  more  and  more  huge,  until  at  last 
Man  appeared  in  a  spectral  sort  of  way  upon  the  scene, 
and  annihilated  the  genus.  For  reptiles,  our  own  colo- 
nies in  Africa  supply  individuals  worthy  in  every  way 
to  have  been  the  contemporaries  of  these  giants.  Huge 
herbivorous  dragons — two-tusked  reptiles  with  the  skulls 
of  crocodiles  —  grazed  along  the  rich  pastures  of  the 
antediluvian  Africa ;  and  iguanadons,  prodigious  crea- 
tures of  the  lizard  kind,  with  large,  flattened,  crushing 
teeth  covering  the  palate  above  like  a  paving-stone, 
and  working  upon  a  corresponding  breadth  of  surface 
in  the  lower  jaw. 

For  birds,  again,  we  need  go  no  farther — for  we  should 
certainly  fare  no  better  —  than  our  own  colony  of  New 
Zealand,  which  monopolizes  the  wonders  of  the  bird 
paradise,  where  a  score  of  gigantic  feathered  things,  as 
big  as  camels,  had  the  islands  all  to  themselves,  feeding 
to  their  hearts'  content  on  the  nutritious  fern-roots.  The 
nurseries  of  the  clinornis  and  the  moa  had,  however, 
their  bogey  in  the  terrible  harpagornis,  a  bird  of  prey 
far  larger  than  the  condor  or  the  lammergeyer,  and 
sufficient  in  itself  to  justify  the  old-world  traditions  of 
the  roc,  the  sirmurg,  and  the  other  gigantic  fowls  of 
story.  But  the  adult  birds  had  no  cause  for  fear  even 
from  such  an  eagle  as  this  ;  and  so  the  geese  grew  so  big 
that  they  could  not  fly,  and  gradually  dispensed  with 
wings,  and  the  coots  became  so  prodigious  that  they,  too, 
gave  up  flying  as  a  troublesome  and  unnecessary  method 
of  locomotion ;  and  everything  at  last  came  to  waddling 


TJie  ElepJianfs  Fellow-Countrymen.  179 

about  together,  too  fat  to  go  fast,  and  so  secure  from 
harm  that  the}-  had  no  cause  for  haste. 

It  was  a  grand  world  in  one  sense,  but  a  stupid,  useless 
world  in  other  respects.  The  leviathans  and  the  behe- 
moths of  the  time  —  creatures  of  unlimited  space  and  time 
and  food  —  prowled  about,  without  any  horizon  to  their 
migrations,  cropping  the  herbage  as  they  went  and  dying 
where  they  happened  to  be  standing  last.  The}-  would 
not  even  take  the  trouble  to  settle  for  posterity  the  ques- 
tion as  to  the  exact  limits  of  their  habitation,  but  dropped 
their  preposterous  bones  into  snowdrifts,  which  melted' 
and  swept  them  off  to  distant  sea-beds,  or  into  rivers 
which  tumbled  their  venerable  remains  along  from  the 
centres  of  continents  to  their  shores,  or  left  them  stranded, 
with  all  sorts  of  incongruous  anachronisms,  to  puzzle  the 
ages  to  came. 

For  ever  so  many  centuries  nobody  with  any  preten- 
sions to  intelligence  would  believe  that  such  a  creature 
as  the  giraffe  existed.  It  was  its  neck  that  did  it,  and 
a  man  who  persisted  in  believing  in  that  part  of  its  body 
might  have  been  sent  to  the  stake  for  it.  It  was  in  vain 
that  travellers  tried  to  convince  Europe  that  they  had 
seen  such  an  animal  with  their  own  eyes,  for  as  soon  as 
they  came  to  the  neck  part  of  their  description  they 
were  put  out  of  court  at  once.  Yet  it  was  a  case  of 
"  neck  or  nothing,"  and,  as  our  forefathers  would  not 
have  the  neck  at  any  price,  they  had  nothing. 

The  idea  of  a  zebra  was  difficult  enough  for  them  to 
entertain,  but  of  a  zebra  gone  to  seed,  in  such  a  way  as 
these  travellers  described  the  giraffe,  appeared  prepos- 
terous and  impossible ;  so  they  said.  Yet  in  earlier 
days  the  giraffe  was  known  to  Europe,  for  Imperial, 


180  Unnatural  History. 

wild-beast-killing  Rome  had  not  only  known  the  camel- 
leopard,  but  had  been  much  amused  by  it,  for  the 
giraffe  has  a  method  of  fighting  which  is  entirety  original, 
and  is  a  very  pleasing  illustration  of  the  instinct  which 
teaches  wild  animals  to  make  the  most  of  nature's  gifts. 
The  giraffe  has  neither  claws  nor  tusks  nor  beak  nor 
sting  nor  poison-fangs  nor  sharp  teeth,  nor}'et  hobnailed 
boots  ;  so  when  it  is  out  of  temper  with  one  of  its  own 
kind  it  does  not  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence  by  trying 
to  scratch  its  antagonist's  bowels  out,  as  a  tiger  might, 
or  toss  it  like  a  rhinoceros,  or  peck  its  eyes  out  like  a 
vulture,  or  sting  it  like  a  scorpion,  or  strike  it  like  a 
cobra,  or  fly  at  its  throat  like  a  wolf,  or  jump  on  it  as 
the  costerrnonger  does.  The  sagacious  animal  is  con- 
scious how  fpolish  and  futile  such  conduct  on  its  part 
would  be.  On  the  contrar}*,  the  giraffe,  remarking  that 
it  has  been  provided  by  nature  with  a  long  and  pliable 
.neck,  terminating  in  a  very  solid  head,  uses  the  upper 
half  of  itself  like  a  flail,  and,  swinging  its  neck  round 
and  round  in  a  way  that  does  immense  credit  to  its  or- 
ganization, brings  its  head  down  at  each  swing  with  a 
thump  on  its  adversary.  The  other  combatant  is  equally 
sagacious,  and  adopts  precisely  the  same  tactics ;  and 
the  two  animals,  planting  themselves  as  firmly  as  possi- 
ble by  stretching  out  all  four  legs  to  the  utmost,  stand 
opposite  each  other  hammering  with  their  heads,  till  one 
or  the  other  either  splits  its  skull  or  bolts. 

Their  heads  are  furnished  with  two  stump}'  horn-like 
processes,  so  that  the  giraffes,  when  busy  at  this  ham- 
mer and  tongs,  remind  the  spectators  somewhat  of  two 
ancient  warriors  thumping  each  other  with  the  spiked 
balls  they  used  to  carry  for  -that  purpose  at  the  end  of  a 
chain.  It  is  possible  that  the  knowledge  of  this  fact 


The  Elephant's  Felloiv-Countrymen.  181 

about  giraffes  would  have  gone  far  towards  convincing 
our  obstinate  forefathers  and  foremothers  of  the  crea- 
ture's actual  existence,  and  it  is  impossible,  therefore,  to 
deplore  too  sincerely  the  lamentable  ignorance  of  natural 
history. which  deprived  preceding  generations  of  the  en- 
joyment of  this  animal.  To  the  Romans  so  eccentric  a 
procedure  in  combat  greatly  endeared  the  giraffe  ;  and  it 
is  within  the  limits  of  reasonable  expectation  to  believe 
that  our  ancestors  of  the  Dark  Ages  would  similarly 
have  appreciated  it  had  they  allowed  themselves  to  be 
so  far  convinced  of  its  entity  as  to  get  one  caught. 

For  the  giraffe  is  distinctly  an  enjoyment.  It  is  a 
pity,  perhaps,  that  it  has  not  got  wings ;  but  we  must 
accept  things  as  we  find  them,  and,  taken  all  round, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  camelopard  is  a  comfort  and 
a  pleasure.  It  gives  us  hopes  of  further  eccentricities, 
and  contracts  the  limits  of  the  marvellous.  It  is  about 
the  best  instalment  of  the  impossible  that  has  been 
vouchsafed  us. 

The  hippopotamus  is  a  great  prodigy  in  its  way,  and 
the  kangaroo  is  out  of  the  common.  But  they  are 
neither  of  them  of  the  same  class  as  this  sky-raking 
animal,  that  passes  all  its  life,  so  to  speak,  looking  out 
of  a  fourth-story  window.  Think  of  the  places  it  could 
live  in  !  A  steeple  would  be  as  comfortable  as  possible 
for  it,  or  its  body  might  be  put  into  a  back  kitchen  and 
its  head  up  the  chimney.  The  cowl  at  the  top  outside 
would  keep  the  rain  off  its  head,  and,  as  the  wind  blew  it 
round  and  round,  the  giraffe,  from  its  sweep's  eminence, 
would  be  gratified  b}-  a  gyroscopic  view  of  the  surround- 
ing country.  It  is  the  only  animal  that  lives  on  the  earth 
and  never  thinks  about  the  ground  it  walks  on. 

It  takes  terra  firma  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  does 


182  Unnatural  History. 

not  even  trouble  itself  to  find  out  where  the  trees  grow 
from.  It  browses  on  the  tops  of  them  without  troub- 
ling itself  to  wonder  how  leaves  got  so  high  up  in  the 
air ;  and  while  other  animals  are  snuffing  about  on  the 
earth,  and  blowing  up  the  dust  to  their  own  inconven- 
ience, the  giraffe  reconnoitres  the  ceilings,  and  knows 
all  about  the  beams.  The  hippopotamus  in  the  next 
house  would  never  even  surmise  that  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  a  roof  over  him  unless  it  were  to  fall  on  his 
head,  but  he  thoroughl}-  understands  the  bricks  and  flag- 
stones with  which  his  apartments  are  paved ;  but  with 
the  giraffe  it  is  just  the  reverse.  Spiders,  as  a  rule, 
build  their  cobwebs  in  the  cornices,  in  order  to  be  out  of 
harm's  way ;  but  in  the  giraffes'  house,  if  they  do  not 
wish  to  be  perpetually  molested  by  sniffing,  they  have 
to  build  in  the  angles  of  the  floor ;  and,  in  the  countries 
where  giraffes  are  common,  we  may  similarly  presume 
that  little  birds  never  sit  and  sing  on  the  tops  of  bushes, 
but  always  about  the  roots,  or  else  the  giraffes  might 
accidentally  nibble  them  off  the  twigs.  Sometimes,  it  is 
true,  the  giraffe  stoops  to  mammalian  levels  ;  but  there 
is  something  so  loft}'  even  in  its  condescension  that 
the  very  act  of  bending  enhances  the  haughtiness  of  its 
erect  posture,  and  suggests  that  it  does  it  from  policy. 
To  be  alwa}-s  keeping  state,  and  forever  in  the  clouds, 
might  make  shorter  animals  accuse  it  of  acting  su- 
perciliously ;  so,  remembering  Bacon's  maxim,  that 
"  amongst  a  man's  inferiors  one  shall  be  sure  of  rever- 
ence, and  therefore  it  is  good  a  little  to  be  familiar,"  it 
affably  condescends  at  intervals.  Its  usual  gestures  are 
all  cast  in  Alexandrines,  and  so,  like  the  poets,  it 
breaks  a  line  every  now  and  then  to  relieve  the  over- 
stateliness  of  the  measure. 


The  Elephant's  Fellow- Countrymen.  183 

It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the  giraffe  finds  much  fun 
in  life ;  for,  after  all,  most  of  the  fun  of  the  animal 
world  goes  on  upon  the  ground.  Of  course,  if  the 
giraffe  thinks  itself  a  bird,  it  may  be  contented  enough 
all  by  itself  in  the  air,  but  its  aspect  is  one  of  subdued 
melancholy,  such  as  appertains  to  all  anomalous  posi- 
tions, whether  those  of  queen-dowagers  or  dodos.  The 
dodo,  for  instance,  left  all  by  itself  as  the  last  of  its 
race  (like  Kingsley's  poor  old  gairfowl  on  the  All  Alone 
Stone),  must  have  had  many  sad  moments.  It  was 
prevented,  on  the  one  hand,  by  the  demise  of  all  its 
kindred,  from  enjoying  the  society  of  its  own  species, 
and,  on  the  other,  by  the  dignity  of  being-about-to- 
become-extinct,  from  mingling  in  the  social  life  of  more 
modern  fowls.  The  giraffe,  in  the  same  wa}~,  moves 
about  with  a  high-bred,  languid  grace  that  has  more  than 
a  suspicion  of  weariness  about  it. 

Yet,  taken  all  for  all,  it  has  not  been  hardly  treated 
by  nature.  If  its  neck  had  been  telescopic,  like  a  tur- 
tle's, it  would,  indeed,  have  been  unduly  favored,  but  as 
it  is  it  comes  off  impartially.  Its  long  neck  must  nec- 
cssarih*  betray  it  to  its  enemies,  for  no  lion  wortli  its 
salt  could  help  seeing  a  giraffe  as  it  lounged  about, 
browsing  in  the  middle  of  the  sky,  with  its  upper-t'gal- 
lant-stunsails  set ;  but  then  again  the  giraffe,  from  such 
an  elevated  lookout,  should  be  able  to  descry  the  prowl- 
ing beast  of  prey  at  a  greater  distance.  Its  length  of 
neck,  again,  so  medical  science  assures  us,  secures  it 
from  all  danger  of  apoplexy  ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  it 
is  terrible  to  think  what  a  giraffe's  sore  throat  would 
belike.  Imagine  seven  feet  of  sore  throat!  Again,  the 
camelopard  carries  no  water-butts  inside  it,  as  the 
camels  do,  although  it  lives  in  the  plains  of  Africa, 


184  Unnatural  History. 

where  water  often  fails ;  but  in  recompense  it  has  a 
tongue  about  two  feet  long — no  small  comfort  to  it 
when  thirsty  —  and  eyes  that  project  after  the  manner 
of  a  shrimp,  so  that,  if  it  likes,  it  can  look  behind  it  and 
in  front  at  the  same  time.  Thus,  counterbalancing  de- 
fect and  advantage,  we  find  the  giraffe  very  fairly  off, 
while  in  the  conditions  of  its  wild  life  there  is  much  to 
rank  it  among  the  happier  of  the  beasts. 

Next  door,  so  to  speak,  to  the  giraffes  are  the  zebras, 
and,  passing  from  one  to  the  other,  the  thought  occurs 
how  pleasantly  art  might  be  made  to  supplement  nature 
in  the  coloring  of  animals,  or  how  agreeable  it  would  have 
been  if  in  the  first  instance  Nature  herself  had  painted 
a  few  more  of  the  larger  animals  as  she  has  decorated 
these  two  comrades  of  the  African  wilderness. 

In  the  bird  world,  color  has  been  lavished  prodigally, 
and  among  insects  we  find  hues  of  every  tone  and  bril- 
liance. The  wicked  caterpillar,  for  instance,  is  defended, 
from  those  who  would  take  away  his  ill-spent  life,  by 
shades  of  green  and  brown  that  harmonize  with  the 
vegetables  he  ravages ;  and  why  was  the  same  consider- 
ate anxiety  for  its  welfare  not  extended  to  the  gentle 
hippopotamus  ? 

A  pea-green  river-horse,  browsing  among  the  reed- 
beds  of  Old  Nile,  would  have  added  a  charm  to  the 
scene ;  and  Stanley  would  hardly  have  been  so  angry 
with  the  behemoths  of  Victoria  Nyanza  if  he  had  found 
them  floating  among  the  lotus-pads,  painted  in  imitation 
of  water-lilies.  The  rhinoceros,  again,  is  a  hideous  ob- 
ject, from  its  vast  expanse  of  mud-colored  skin  ;  yet  what 
a  surface  he  presents  for  a  noble  stud}'  in  browns ! 

What  fine  effects  of  shade  might  not  be  obtained 


The  Elephant's  Fellow- Countrymen.          185 

among  those  corrugated  folds  of  hide  ;  or  let  us  for  a 
moment  consider  what  he  would  look  like  burnished! 
Nature  has  not  stinted  metallic  tints  in  bird,  or  insect, 
or  fish,  or  reptile ;  and  jet  in  the  mammals,  where  such 
magnificent  results  might  have  been  attained,  she  with- 
held her  hand.  It  is  difficult,  indeed,  in  these  degene- 
rate da}rs  to  imagine  such  a  superb  spectacle  as  a  herd 
of  brazen  elephants  crashing  their  way  through  a 
primeval  forest ;  or  rhinoceroses,  glittering  like  the  dome 
of  the  Boston  State  House,  wandering  among  the  ruins 
of  old  Memphis;  or  hippopotamuses  of  mother-o'-pearl, 
sporting  on  the  bosom  of  Old  Nile  with  electro-plated 
crocodiles  ! 

The  carnivora  advantage  by  the  accident  of  their 
painted  skins  ;  but  the  zebra  and  the  giraffe  need  no 
excusings  for  criihe,  for  they  commit  none.  They  are 
innocent  and  beautiful  at  one  and  the  same  time.  The 
hippopotamus,  poor  monster !  is  only  innocent,  and  the 
rhinoceros  is  neither,  and  each,  therefore,  receives  from 
the  public  its  proportion  of  depreciative  comment ;  the 
former  being  patronized  for  its  helplessness,  and  ban- 
tered on  its  personal  appearance ;  the  latter  being 
rudely  spoken  of,  not  onby  for  the  ugliness  of  its  looks, 
but  the  wickedness  of  them,  the  malicious  twinkle  in  its 
little  eyes,  and  that  offensive  horn  at  the  tip  of  its  nose, 
which  Pliny  tells  us  he  always  sharpens  upon  an  agate 
before  attacking  the  elephant. 

Now,  if  all  were  impartially  adorned  in  colors,  all 
would  share  more  largely  in  public  sympathy ;  for  just 
as  no  one  now  would  think  of  shooting  the  gold  and 
silver  pheasants,  no  one  then  would  think  of  prodding 
a  golden  rhinoceros  with  his  umbrella,  or  betraying  the 
confidence  of  a  silver  hippopotamus  with  empty  paper- 
bags  or  the  innutritions  pebble. 


186  Unnatural  History. 


V. 

CATS  AND   SPARROWS. 

They  are  of  Two  Species,  tame  and  otherwise.  —  The  Artificial 
Lion.  —  Its  Debt  of  Gratitude  to  Landseer  and  the  Poets.  —  Un- 
suitable for  Domestication.  —  Is  the  Natural  Lion  the  King  of 
Beasts  ?  —  The  true  Moral  of  all  Lion  Fables.  — "  Well  roared, 
Lion !  "  —  The  Tiger  not  of  a  Festive  Kind.  —  There  is  no  Non- 
sense about  the  Big  Cats.  —  The  Tiger's  Pleasures  and  Perils. 

—  Its  Terrible  Voice.  —  The  poor  Old  Man-Eater.  —  Caught  by 
Baboos  and  Killed  by  Sheep.  — The  great  Cat  Princes.  — Com- 

-  mon  or  Garden  Cats,  approached  sideways.  —  The  Physical  Im- 
possibility of  Taxing  Cats.  —  The  Evasive  Habits  of  Grimalkin. 

—  Its  Instinct  for  Cooks.  —  On  the  Roof  with  a  Burglar.  —  The 
Prey  of  Cats.  —  The  Turpitude  of  the  Sparrow.  —  As  an  Em- 
blem of  Conquest  and  an  Article  of  Export. — The  Street  Boy 
among  Birds. 

CATS  are  of  two  kinds  at  least,  —  the  common  or 
garden  pussy,  and  the  wild  or  undomesticatcd 
felis. 

The  former  is  of  various  colors  and  qualities,  the  graj* 
specimens  being  called  tabbies  and  the  larger  ones 
toms.  Both  are  equally  fond  of  fish,  and  their  young 
(which  are  born  blind)  are  called  kittens,  and  are 
generally  drowned. 

The  latter,  or  undomesticated  kind,  is  exactly  like  the 
former  ;  but  it  is  usuall}-  much  larger,  and  when  offered 
milk  it  does  not  purr.  One  of  these  cats  is  called  the 
lion.  The  lion,  to  be  precise,  is  also  of  two  sorts  — 
the  natural  and  the  artificial  —  and  on  the  whole  the 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  187 

latter  animal  is  the  better  of  the  two.  It  is  generous 
and  brave,  the  King  of  Beasts,  and  one  of  the  support- 
ers of  the  British  Arms. 

Landseer  has  done  a  great  deal  for  this  lion,  and  in 
Trafalgar  Square  in  London  has  left  on  record  four 
specimens,  which  all  other  lions,  vel  Africanus  vel  Asi- 
aticus  should  try  and  live  up  to.  Other  artists  also, 
notably  Dorc  on  canvass,  and  Thorwaldsen  in  stone, 
have  advantaged  the  artificial  lion  very  considerably, 
and  both  poets  and  lion-sla}rers  have  done  their  best  to 
elevate  its  moral  and  physical  virtues  in  the  public  esti- 
mation, —  the  former  from  a  mistaken  estimate  of  this 
animal's  character,  derived  from  antiquity,  the  latter 
from  a  natural  desire  to  represent  themselves  as  being 
men  of  an  extraordinary  courage.  These  powerful' 
agencies  between  them  have  succeeded  in  rehabilitating 
the  artificial  lion,  who  was  at  one  time  becoming  rapidly 
absurd  by  the  liberties  taken  with  it  in  heraldry  and  on 
sign-boards. 

A  lion  rampant,  with  his  tongue  lolling  out,  and  two 
knobs  at  the  end  of  his  tail,  is  only  one  of  a  hundred 
heraldic  aberrations  from  the  normal  type,  which  lovers 
of  nature  must  agree  in  deploring ;  and  the  green,  blue, 
and  red  lions  of  English  inns  were  all  such  "fearful 
wild-fowl  "  as  might  make  cats  weep.  There  have  even 
been  spotted  lions !  It  was  high  time  therefore  for  the 
artistic  champions  of  the  great  cat  to  come  to  the  front, 
or  we  might  soon  have  had  Tabby  and  Tortoise-shell 
lions  and  Tom  lions  on  our  sign-boards. 

What  dignity  after  this  would  have  attached  to  that 
haught}"  speech  of  the  lioness  who,  being  rallied  by  a 
grasshopper  upon  having  only  one  cub,  loftily  replied, 
"  Yes,  true,  I  have  only  one  —  but  that  one  is  a  lion" 


188  Unnatural  History. 

The  story  has  long  been  popular,  and  often  been  ap- 
plauded, but,  as  it  seems  to  me,  without  sufficient  judg- 
ment. What  else  could  the  lioness  have  expected  to 
produce  but  a  lion?  Such  was  only  to  be  anticipated. 

Now  if  her  cub  had  been  a  camel  or  a  rhinoceros  her 
pride  would  have  been  justified  by  the  exceptional  char- 
acter of  her  performance  ;  or  if  her  offspring  had  been  a 
hippopotamus  or  a  giraffe,  we  might  have  accepted  such 
complacency  as  not  unnatural  under  the  circumstances. 
But  what  are  the  facts  of  the  case  ?  Or  if  again  it  had 
been  even  a  lion  rampant,  with  its  tongue  out,  or  a  green 
lion,  or  a  spotted  one,  we  might  have  understood  the 
tawn}r  mother's  exultation.  As  it  was,  her  hauteur  was 
surety  misplaced.  A  lioness  gives  birth  to  a  cub  and  it 
turns  out  a  lion  —  voila  tout !  Yet  she  was  pleased  on 
this  account  to  snub  the  prolific  insect  who  addressed 
her,  as  if  she  herself  had  done  something  out  of  the 
common,  rare  and  worth  talking  about.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  after  all,  it  was  only  an  ordinary,  eveiy-daj* 
lion.  Moreover,  it  would  have  been  quite  within  the 
grasshopper's  right  to  retort,  "A  lion?  Nonsense.  It 
is  only  a  cat  —  a  kitten.  I  can  hear  it  mewing."  For 
the  baby  lion  is  faintly  brindled,  like  the  most  ordinaiy 
of  pussies,  and  mews  precisely  like  the  kitten  in  the 
nurser}'. 

Nevertheless,  the  artificial  (or  supernatural)  lion  dif- 
fers in  man}*  valuable  respects  from  the  natural  animal. 
It  is  magnanimous,  as  witness  that  stoiy  of  the  mouse 
that  released  the  lion  from  a  net  and  was  dismissed  by 
the  lion  with  thanks.  Now  in  a  wild  state  the  lion 
would  have  eaten  the  mouse,  for  it  has  the  usual  cat's 
taste  for  mice  and  rats ;  and  though,  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  only  an  indifferent  mouser,  might  no  doubt  be 


Cats  and  Sparrows'  189 

made  useful  in  a  kitchen.  Besides  clearing  the  domestic 
precincts  of  the  cheese-nibbling  folk,  it  would  not  be 
above  catching  the  crickets  on  the  hearth  or  the  humble 
cockroach  —  and  eating  them.  The  lion  in  a  wild  state 
never  disdains  such  small  deer  as  insects.  But  whether 
our  modern  cooks  and  kitchen  maids  would  care  to 
have  a  promiscuous  lion  downstairs  is  another  matter, 
and  the  doubt  on  this  point  suggests  a  very  painful  con- 
trast between  the  manners  of  the  larger  and  the  lesser 
cats. 

The  lesser  cat,  it  is  only  too  true,  is  often  so  carried 
away  by  her  feelings  as  to  indulge  in  the  surreptitious 
canary  ;  and  she  has  been  known  to  forget  herself  so  far 
during  the  night-watches  as  to  skirmish  on  the  window- 
sill,  in  the  compan}'  of  the  cat  from  next  door,  with 
such  vivacity  and  want  of  judgment  as  to  upset  flower- 
pots into  the  back-yard.  The  gravity  of  these  mis- 
demeanors cannot  be  slurred  over,  but,  after  all,  to 
what  do  the}'  amount  compared  to  the  havoc  that  would 
result  from  the  domestication  of  some  of  the  larger  cats 
—  such  as  lions  ? 

Confessing  his  sins  in  a-  parliament  of  the  beasts,  the 
lion  in  the  fable  says :  ' '  J'ai  de vore  force  moutons ; 
meme  il  m'est  arrive  quelquefois  de  manger  le  berger !  " 
and  from  a  shepherd  to  a  cook  is  only  a  brief  step. 
But  between  a  canary  and  a  cook  there  is  a  distance  of 
many  parasangs,  and  the  enormity  of  the  one  offence  is 
barely  comparable  to  that  of  the  other.  Again,  the 
light-hearted  cat,  when  foregathering  for  frivolous  con- 
verse with  her  kind,  does  damage,  as  has  been  said,  to 
occasional  flower-pots,  and  has  even  in  her  gayety  been 
known  to  fall  ruinously  through  the  kitchen  window. 
But  supposing  we  tried  to  keep  lions  about  the  place, 


190  Unnatural  History. 

and  our  lion  were  to  get  on  to  the  roof  of  the  sum- 
mer-house or  on  the  garden  wall  with  the  lion  from 
next  door,  what  would  be  the  result  ?  The  roaring  of 
•the  lion  when  at  liberty  is  said  by  those  who  have  heard 
it  to  be  something  terrific.  It  lays  its  head,  we  are 
told,  close  to  the  earth,  and  in  this  position  emits  a 
tremendous  utterance,  which  rolls  growling  along  the 
ground  like  the  first  mutteriugs  of  a  volcano.  It  could 
be  heard  all  over  the  town,  and  we  should  never  get  a 
wink  of  sleep !  But  if  the  lions  got  frolicsome  the 
consequences  would  be  even  more  dreadful.  The  gar- 
dens, with  their  uprooted  shrubs,  twisted  railings,  and 
dilapidated  walls,  would  look  next  morning  as  if  some 
earthquakes  had  been  on  the  premises  overnight  and  got 
drunk  before  leaving. 

This,  however,  is  somewhat  of  a  digression.  To  re- 
turn to  the  artificial  lion  and  the  points  in  which  it 
differs  from  the  natural  animal,  we  find,  besides  its  mag- 
nanimity, that  this  species  possesses  an  unusual  sense 
of  honor.  It  is  said,  for  instance,  by  those  who  wish  to 
magnify  it,  that  it  roars  before  entering  a  jungle  —  in 
order  to  give  all  the  little  creatures  in  it  a  chance  of 
running  away.  The  lion  is  too  noble  a  beast,  the}' 
say,  to  take  a  mean  advantage  of  its  neighbors,  or  to 
surprise  any  of  them,  even  the  humblest ;  so  it  gives 
warning  to  the  bystanders,  like  Mr.  Snodgrass  in  the 
"  Pickwick  Papers,"  that  it  is  "  going  to  begin."  But 
what  are  the  facts  ?  The  lion  when  on  the  lookout  for 
a  meal  is  as  stealthy  as  a  cat  when  compassing  the  ruin 
of  the  garden  sparrow.  It  crawls  along  on  its  stomach, 
taking  advantage  of  every  tuft  of  cover  and  inequality 
of  the  ground,  and  maintaining  a  perfect  silence.  More 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  191 

often  still  it  lies  in  ambush  for  its  victim  ;  and  those  who 
have  watched  a  lion  under  a  tamarisk,  waiting  for  the 
antelope  to  come  browsing  b}7,  say  there  is  no  difference 
whatever  between  its  tactics  and  those  of  Grimalkin 
when  she  lurks  under  a  goosebeny  bush  for  the  casual 
robin.  Another  fact  is  that  the  lion  is  only  bold  in  the 
dark.  It  becomes  savage,  of  course,  at  all  hours,  if 
passers-by  take  the  liberty  of  wounding  ft ;  but  during 
the  daytime  and  on  moonlight  nights  it  is,  as  a  rule,  so 
timid  that  travellers  in  the  Lion-veldt  of  Africa  never 
even  trouble  themselves  to  tether  their  wagon  cattle. 
Yet  this  is  the  King  of  Beasts. 

In  what,  then,  is  it  kingly?  Certainty  not  in  gene- 
rosity, nor  yet  in  its  habits.  Kings'  do  not  go  about 
catching  rats  and  frogs  and  insects,  nor  in  their  own 
dominions  do  they  skulk  among  the  undergrowth  when 
in  search  of  a  meal.  Is  it  its  size  ?  Certainly  not ;  for 
the  elephant  is  its  companion,  and  the  lion  never  dares 
to  cross  the  mammoth's  path,  confessing  by  its  defer- 
ence a  sense  of  superiority  which  other  beasts,  the  lion's 
subjects,  refuse  to  entertain  —  notably  the  tiger,  the 
wild  boar,  and  the  rhinoceros.  These  three  do  not  hes- 
itate to  affront  the  elephant  in  broad  daylight,  and  cer- 
tainly would  not  turn  tail  for  their  "  king"  if  the}*  met 
him.  Is  it  then  in  its  appearance  that  this  animal 
claims  to  be  royal  among  the  quadrupeds?  It  is  true 
that  in  repose  —  notably  in  the  splendid  bronzes  of 
Trafalgar  Square  —  there  is  a  surpassing  majesty  in  the 
lions'  heads.  They  have  the  countenances  of  gods. 
Their  manes  sweep  down  upon  their  shoulders  like  the 
terrible  hair  of  the  Olj'mpian  Zeus,  and  there  is  that  in 
their  ej-es  that  speaks  of  a  foreknowledge  of  things  and 
of  days,  grand  as  fallen  Saturn  and  implacable  as  the 
Sphinx. 


192  Unnatural  History. 

But  then  this  is  in  bronze.  In  Nature,  only  one  half 
of  the  world's  lions  have  any  manes  at  all ;  and  even  of 
these,  the  African  species,  there  are  but  few,  so  travel- 
lers assure  us,  that  reflect  in  anj-  considerable  degree 
the  dignit}'  of  Landseer's  effigies,  while  one  writer  speaks 
of  ' '  the  blandness  of  his  [the  lion's]  Harold  Skimpole- 
like  countenance ! " 

Yet,  after  all,  if  we  dethrone  the  lion,  which  of  the 
beasts  shall  wear  the  crown?  The  elephant  is  infinitely 
superior,  both  morally  and  physically ;  but  the  ermine 
would  hardly  sit  well  upon  the  unwieldly  pachyderm. 
The  tiger  is  more  courageous  and  as  strong,  but  there  is 
too  much  blood  on  its  claws  for  a  royal  sceptre.  Shall 
we  give  the  beasts  a  dictator  in  the  violent  rhinoceros, 
or  raise  them  an  emir  from  the  people  by  crowning  the 
wild  boar?  But  wiry  have  a  monarch}'  at  all?  Let  the 
quadrupeds  be  a  republic. 

But  the  suggestion  is  quite  worthy  of  consideration, 
whether  the  modern  ideal  of  the  lion  is  not  really  due 
to  a  misconception  of  the  object  of  our  predecessors  in 
making  this  animal  so  prominent.  Originally,  there  is 
no  doubt,  the  people  fixed  upon  the  lion  as  the  king, 
not  because  he  had  any  of  the  kingly  virtues,  but  be- 
cause he  had.  all  the  kingly  vices.  They  satirized 
monarchy  under  this  S3*mbol.  By  endowing  him  with 
royalty  the}-  intended,  therefore,  to  mark  him  out  for 
public  odium,  and  not  for  public  reverence,  just  as  in 
more  modern  da}-s  the  wolf  has  stood  in  Ireland  for 
the  landlord.  With  this  explanation  as  a  key.  all 
the  fables  and  stories  told  of  the  lion,  which  hitherto 
have  misled  the  popular  mind  as  to  the  regal  qualifi- 
cations of  the  lion,  fall  to  pieces  at  once,  and  are  seen 
to  illustrate  the  failings  and  iniquities  of  the  purple, 
and  not  its  virtues  or  its  grandeur. 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  193 

Take  JEsop  alone,  and  translate  his  fables  by  this 
light.  The  lion  and  the  boar  fight,  and  the  match  is  an 
equal  one  —  king  against  the  people ;  but  seeing  the 
vultures,  a  foreign  enem}',  on  the  lookout  for  the  corpse 
of  the  vanquished,  whichever  it  might  happen  to  be, 
they  make  up  their  quarrel.  ...  A  lion  (the  king) 
saw  three  bulls  (his  turbulent  barons)  pasturing  to- 
gether, and  he  made  them  quarrel  and  separate,  when 
he  ate  them  up  one  after  the  other.  ...  A  lion  (the 
king's  arm}')  made  an  alliance  with  a  dolphin  (the  king's 
navy)  in  order  to  have  everything  their  own  way,  and 
then  the  lion  tried  to  oppress  a  wild  bull  (his  people) 
and  got  the  worst  of  it,  and  the  navy  could  not  help 
him  a  bit.  .  .  .  Two  kings,  a  lion  and  a  bear,  fall  to 
fighting  over  a  kid,  and  are  at  length  so  exhausted  with 
the  combat  that  a  passing  fox  carries  off  the  kid.  .  .  . 
A  lion,  an  ass,  and  a  fox  went  a-hunting,  and  on  their 
return  the  king  ordered  the  ass  to  apportion  the  spoil. 
The  ass  divided  it  carefully  into  three  equal  portions, 
which  so  enraged  the  lion  that  he  devoured  him  on  the 
spot,  and  ordered  the  fox  to  make  a  fresh  partition. 
The  fox  put  everything  into  one  great  heap  as  the 
king's  half,  and  kept  only  an  accidental  fragment  of 
offal  for  himself,  upon  which  the  lion  commended  his  art 
in  division,  and  asked  him  where  he  had  learned  it. 
"From  the  ass,"  replied  the  sycophant.  ...  A  great 
king,  a  lion,  asked  a  humble  neighbor  for  a  favor,  which 
was  granted  on  condition  that  the  lion  would  dismiss  his 
armed  followers  —  have  his  teeth  drawn,  in  fact ;  and  as 
soon  as  he  had  consented,  the  humble  neighbor  whipped 
the  king  off  his  premises.  .  .  .  The  lion  is  represented 
as  afraid  of  the  crowing  of  the  cock  —  the  awaking  of 
the  people  ;  as  putting  himself  to  great  trouble  to  catch 

13 


194  Unnatural  History. 

a  mouse  that  had  annoyed  him ;  as  the  dupe  of  coun- 
cillors ;  and  as  being  constantly  overmatched  by  his 
subjects. 

These  fables,  therefore,  and  a  hundred  others,  are  not 
written  to  dignify  the  royalt}"  of  the  lion  among  the 
beasts,  but  to  depreciate  royalty  among  men  under  the 
symbol  of  a  lion,  —  an  animal  that  has  a  majestic  as- 
pect and  noble  antecedents,  but  is  both  tyrannical  and 
mean,  mutton-headed  and  stealthy.  His  friends  are 
always  the  cunning,  and  his  natural  enemies  the  cour- 
ageous. The  poets,  however  (of  course) ,  entirely  mis- 
understand these  parables  of  antiquity,  and,  having  often 
heard  and  read  of  the  king  of  beasts,  they  invest  the 
lion  with  all  the  insignia  of  monarchy.  But  the  poets, 
until  the  nineteenth  century,  were  as  a  class  curiously 
and  ludicrously  ignorant  of  natural  history,  —  and  more 
completely  at  discord  with  Nature  generally,  more 
unsympathetic,  more  imitative,  and  more  incorrect, 
than  could  be- supposed  possible.  So  their  champion- 
ship of  the  lion  goes  for  nothing,  unless  we  are  content 
to  accept  all  their  fictions  in  a  lump  together,  and  to 
think  of  bears  ravaging  sheepfolds,  baboons  swinging 
by  their  tails,  and  vultures  chasing  turtle-doves. 

The  travellers  who  seek  a  lion-slayer's  fame  are  no 
less  at  fault,  for  they  also  misuse  their  facts.  Other 
travellers  on  the  same  hunting-grounds  have  described 
the  great  cat  to  us  too  often  to  make  the  Bombastes 
Furioso  of  spurious  adventures  a  reality.  Instead  of 
the  huge  beast  standing  erect  on  the  plain  in  mid-day, 
and  advancing  with  terrific  roaring  upon  the  hunter, 
every  hair  of  the  magnificent  mane  erect  and  the  eyes 
flashing  fire,  we  are  introduced  to  a  sulky  cat  that  trots 
away  round  the  corner  on  the  first  warning  of  man's 


Gats  and  Sparrows.  195 

approach  ;  and  which,  so  far  from  provoking  conflict, 
takes  advantage  of  ever}'  feature  of  the  country  that 
offers  it  concealment,  or  affords  it  a  wa}'  of  escape  from 
its  dreaded  persecutor.  The  Dutchmen  in  Africa  have 
named  the  districts  in  which  this  animal  ranges,  the 
Lion-veldt,  and  this  is  a  splendid  compliment.  But 
they  regard  the  king  of  beasts  as  a  pest,  and  do  not 
fear  it  as  a  danger,  while  the  natives  reverence  it  as 
a  voice,  and  a  terrible  one,  but  prater -ea  nihil.  It  was 
for  this  same  rnajestj*  of  voice  that  Ali  the  Caliph  was 
named  the  Lion  of  Allah.  In  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
it  was  the  sound  of  the  lions  that  first  terrified  Faithful 
and  his  part3r,  for  we  are  told  it  had  t;  a  hollow  voice  of 
roaring  ;  "  and  it  was  the  same  roaring  that  frightened 
poor  Thisbe  to  her  death.  Perhaps  then,  after  all,  it 
is  with  beasts  as  it  is  often  with  men,  that  he  who  roars 
loudest  and  oftenest  is  counted  the  best  in  the  crowd, 
and  that  the  lion's  only  claim  to  kingship  is  in  the 
power  of  his  lungs.  If  this  be  so,  we  can  only  say, 
with  the  duke  in  the  pla}',  "  "Well  roared,  lion  !  " 

Another  large  cat  is  called  the  tiger.  There  is  no 
nonsense  about  the  tiger  as  there  is  about  the  lion.  He 
is  not  an  impostor.  Wolves  may  go  about  pretending 
that  they  are  onl}~  dogs  that  have  had  the  misfortune  of 
a  bad  bringing  up,  and  the  lion  may  swagger  round 
trying  to  look  as  if  he  were  something  else  than  a  cat ; 
but  the  tiger  never  descends  to  such  prevarication,  — 
setting  himself  up  for  better  than  he  is,  or  claiming  re- 
spect for  qualities  which  he  does  not  possess.  There  is 
no  ambiguity  about  anything  he  does.  All  his  character 
is  on  the  surface.  "  I  am,"  he  saj's,  a  "  thorough  going 
downright  wild  beast,  and  if  you  don't  like  me  }'ou  may 
lump  me ;  but  in  the  mean  while  you  had  better  get 


196  Unnatural  History. 

out  of  my  way."  There  is  no  pompous  affectation  of 
superior  intelligence  about  the  tiger,  no  straining  after 
a  false  reputation  for  magnanimity.  If  he  is  met  with 
in  a  jungle,  he  does  not  make-believe  for  the  purpose  of 
impressing  the  traveller  with  his  uncommon  sagactty,  or 
waste  time  like  the  lion  in  superfluous  roaring,  shaking 
of  manes,  and  looking  kingly.  On  the  contrary,  he  be- 
haves honestly  and  candidly,  like  the  beast  he  is.  He 
either  retires  precipitately  with  every  confession  of 
alarm,  or,  in  his  own  fine  outspoken  fashion,  goes  for 
the  stranger.  Nor,  when  he  makes  off,  does  he  do  it  as 
if  he  liked  it,  wasting  his  time  in  pretentious  attitudes, 
or  in  trying  to  save  appearances.  He  has  no  idea  of 
showing  off.  If  he  has  to  go  he  goes,  like  lightning, 
and  does  not  think  for  a  moment  of  the  figure  he  is 
cutting.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  means  fighting, 
he  gives  the  stranger  very  little  leisure  for  misunder- 
standing his  intentions.  The  tiger,  therefore,  deserves 
to  be  considered  a  model  wild  beast,  and  to  be  held  in 
respect  accordingly.  He  knows  his  station  and  keeps 
it,  doing  the  work  that  Nature  has  given  him  to  do  with 
all  his  might. 

The  result  of  this  honesty  is  that  no  one  misrepresents 
the  tiger.  Exaggerated  praise  and  slander  are  alike  im- 
possible of  an  animal  that  refuses  to  be  misjudged. 
There  is  no  opening  for  dishonest  description,  for  he  is 
alwaj'S  in  the  same  character ;  no  scope  for  romancing 
about  a  beast  that  is  so  consistently  practical,  or  for  fable 
when  he  does  nothing  in  parables.  Moreover,  most  of 
the  other  beasts  play  a  second  part  in  the  world,  and 
have  a  moral  significance,  —  like  the  creatures  grouped 
about  Solomon's  throne,  or  the  standard-emblazonments 
of  the  tribes  of  Israel,  or  the  armorial  bearings  of  families 


Cats  and  Sparrmvs.  197 

and  nations,  or  the  badges  of  the  Apostles.  But  no  one 
uses  the  tiger  in  this  way  as  a  metaphor.  There  is  not 
sufficiently  subtlet}r  in  the  emblem.  It  is  too  coarse,  too 
downright.  A  tiger  is  a  tiger,  and  nothing  more  or  less. 
Once  only  it  was  made  a  ro3*al  emblem,  —  by  Tippoo, 
the  Sultan  of  Mysore,  —  but  then  professedly  out  of  mere 
brutal  ferocity.  In  the  same  vein  that  amiable  prince 
constructed  a  mechanical  toy,  now  in  the  South  Ken- 
sington collection,  which  represented  a  tiger,  life-size, 
mumbling  the  bod}7  of  an  English  soldier ;  and  when 
the  machinery  was  in  proper  order,  the  tiger  growled 
and  the  soldier  groaned  with  considerable  power.  But 
Mr.  John  Bright,  so  they  sa}7,  finding  time  heavy  on  his 
hands  during  the  Sultan's  ball,  amused  himself  with 
Tippoo' s  toy,  and  by  overwinding  the  machine,  broke  it. 
At  any  rate,  the  tiger  goes  through  his  growling  per- 
formances now  in  a  very  perfunctory  and  feeble  manner. 

For  the  same  reason,  namely,  that  the  tiger  affords 
no  room  for  the  play  of  fancy,  the  poets  prefer  leopards 
to  tigers.  There  is  more  left  to  the  imagination  in  the 
sound  of  the  smaller  animal's  name,  and  as  it  is  not  so 
•well:  known  as  the  tiger,  they  have  wider  margin  for 
poetical  license.  The  moralist,  for  a  similar  reason, 
avoids  the  tiger,  for  no  amount  of  ingenuity  will  extract 
a  moral  out  of  its  conduct. 

In  short,  then,  the  tiger  may  be  taken  as  the  supreme 
type  of  the  pure  wild  beast.  Life  has  only  one  end  for 
him — enjoyment ;  and  to  this  he  gives  all  his  magnificent 
energies.  Endowed  with  superb  capabilities,  he  exer- 
cises them  to  the  utmost  in  this  one  direction,  without 
ever  forgetting  for  an  instant  that  he  is  only  a  huge  cat, 
or  flying  in  the  face  of  Nature  by  pretending  to  be  any- 
thing else. 


198  Unnatural  History. 

Speed,  strength,  and  cunning  are  his  in  a  degree  to 
which,  in  the  same  combination,  no  other  animal  can  lay 
claim ;  in  daring  none  exceed  him,  while  for  physical 
beauty  he  has  absolutely  no  rival.  A  tiger  has  been 
known  to  spring  over  a  wall  five  feet  high  into  a  cattle 
enclosure,  and  to  jump  back  again  with  a  full-grown  an- 
imal in  its  jaws  ;  and  has  been  seen  to  leap,  holding  a 
bullock,  across  a  wide  ditch.  As  regards  its  speed,  the 
first  bounds  of  a  tiger  are  so  rapid  as  to  bring  it  along- 
side the  antelope ;  while  for  strength,  a  single  blow  of 
its  paw  will  stun  a  charging  bull.  Its  stealth  may  be 
illustrated  by  the  anecdote  of  the  tiger  carrying  away  the 
bait  while  the  sportsmen  were  actually  busy  putting  up 
the  shelters  from  which  they  intended  to  shoot  it  when 
it  came  ;  and  its  daring,  by  the  fact  that  numbers  do  not 
appal  it,  that  it  will  single  out  and  carry  off  a  man  out  of 
the  middle  of  a  party,  and  that  it  regularly  helps  itself 
to  cattle  in  broad  daylight,  in  full  sight  of  the  herdsmen 
or  the  whole  village.  I  have  not  gone  for  my  illustra- 
tions to  any  traveller's  tale,  but  to  records  of  Indian 
shikar  that  are  absolute!}*  bej'ond  suspicion.  To  enable 
it  to  achieve  such  feats  as  these  Nature  has  created  in 
the  tiger  the  very  ideal  of  brute  symmetry  and  power. 
The  paws,  moreover,  are  fitted  with  large  soft  pads  which 
enable  this  bulky  animal  to  move  without  a  rustle  over 
ground  where  the  lizard  can  hardly  stir  without  being 
heard ;  while  its  coloring,  though  it  seems  conspicuous 
enough  when  seen  in  a  cage  behind  bars  and  against  a 
background  of  whitewash,  assimilates  with  astonishing 
exactness  to  its  surroundings  when  the  tiger  lies  in 
ambush  under  the  overhanging  roots,  or  crouches 
amongst  the  cane-grass. 

For  the  tiger  makes  no  pretence  to  invincible  courage. 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  199 

On  the  contrary,  he  prefers,  as  a  rule,  to  enjoy  life  rather 
than  die  heroically.  When  death  is  inevitable  he  is 
always  heroic,  or  even  when  danger  presses  him  too 
closely.  But,  if  he  can,  he  avoids  the  unequal  contest 
between  brute  courage  and  explosive  shells,  and  makes 
off  at  once  for  more  sequestered  woodlands,  where  he 
can  reign  supreme  and  be  at  ease.  It  is  indeed  a 
splendid  life  that  this  autocrat  of  the  jungle  leads.  The 
day  commences  for  him  as  the  sun  begins  to  set,  and  he 
then  stalks  from  his  lair  to  drink  at  the  neighboring 
pool,  after  which,  his  thirst  slaked,  he  creeps  out  towards 
the  glade  where  the  deer  are  feeding.  The  vigilant, 
restless  herd  has  need  now  for  all  its  acuteness  of  ear 
and  nostril,  but  it  will  certainly  be  unavailing,  for  the 
tiger  is  hungry,  and,  his  prey  once  sighted,  there  is  no 
gainsaying  him.  Using  all  the  craft  of  his  kind,  the  great 
cat  steals  upon  his  victims  with  consummate  patience, 
and  in  such  silence  that  even  the  deer  have  no  suspicion 
how  swiftly  that  stealth}-  death  is  approaching.  It  is  like 
being  killed  by  a  shadow  or  a  ghost,  for  not  a  sound  of 
moving  leaf  or  breaking  twig  has  given  them  warning ; 
and  yet,  all  on  a  sudden,  right  in  their  midst  it  ma}'  be, 
there  is  an  instant's  swaying  of  the  grass,  and  lo !  the 
tiger. 

The  next  instant  he  is  flying  through  the  air  in  a  ter- 
rific bound,  and  as  the  herd  sweeps  away  down  the 
glade,  one  of  their  number  is  left  behind,  and  is  already 
dead. 

The  tyrant  eats  what  he  wants,  and  then  strolls  back 
into  the  jungle  indolently  and,  so  to  speak,  in  good 
humor  with  all  the  world.  We  can  then  imagine  him 
stalking  a  company  of  sambhur  in  fun,  and  afterwards 
see  him  standing  up  alone  in  the  open  space,  laughing 


200  Unnatural  History. 

grimly,  shaking  his  sides  at  the  joke,  as  the  antlered 
creatures  fly  terrified  before  his  form  revealed ;  or  we 
may  watch  him  insolently  stretching  himself  in  the  full 
moonlight  upon  the  ground  near  the  favorite  drinking 
pool,  and  daring  all  the  beasts  of  the  jungle  to  slake 
their  thirst  there  so  long  as  he  remains.  What  strange 
wild  scenes  he  must  witness  in  the  gra}-  morning,  as  the 
world  begins  to  wake  up  to  life,  and  the  night-feeding 
things  go  back  to  their  lairs,  with  the  bears  shuffling 
along  in  good-humored  company,  the  slinking  wolves, 
and  the  careless  trotting  boars ;  and  the  multitude  of 
smaller  creatures,  furred  and  feathered,  going  out  for 
the  work  of  the  day,  or  coming  home  tired  with  the 
work  of  the  night. 

Nor  is  his  life  without  brilliant  episodes  of  excitement, 
for,  apart  from  the  keen  triumphs  that  he  enjo}-s  whenever 
he  seeks  his  food,  there  are  thrilling  intervals  in  each 
recurring  summer  when  the  Jiuut  is  equipped  for  his  de- 
struction, with  all  the  pomp  of  marshalled  elephants 
and  an  army  of  beaters. 

The  heat  of  May  has  scorched  up  the  covert  and 
the  water,  except  in  a  few  pools  where  a  fringe  of  vege- 
tation still  lingers,  and  the  tiger  can  still  find  a  mid-day 
lair.  Here  the  hunters  seek  him,  and,  whether  we  look 
at  the  quarry  they  pursue  or  the  picturesque  surroundings 
of  the  da}r's  excitement,  it  must  be  confessed  that  tiger- 
shooting  has  no  rival  in  all  the  range  of  sport.  Even 
if  no  tiger  is  seen,  if  the  elephant  grass  is  beaten  in 
vain,  and  the  coverts  of  cane-clump  and  rustling  reed 
are  drawn  without  a  glimpse  of  the  great  striped  beast, 
there  is  such  a  multitude  of  incidents  in  the  day's 
adventure  that  it  is  never  a  blank.  As  the  drive 
comes  on  towards  the  ambushed  rifles,  the  park-like 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  201 

glades  that  stretch  away  to  right  and  left  are  never 
wanting  in  animal  life.  The  pea-fowl  and  the  wild  pig, 
the  partridges  and  grouse  of  several  kinds,  are  all  afoot, 
hurrying  along  before  the  advancing  line.  The  jackals 
sneak  from  brake  to  brake,  and,  pacing  out  of  the  jungle 
that  marks  the  watercourse,  come  the  swamp  deer  and 
the  noble  sambhur.  Here  a  wolf  breaks  cover  sullenly 
looking  back  over  his  shoulder  as  he  goes,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  shouting  beaters.  There  a  bear  goes  by,  com- 
plaining of  his  rest  disturbed.  The  monkey-folk  come 
swinging  along  in  a  tumult  of  the  foliage  overhead,  and 
small  creatures  of  the  civet  kind,  with  an  occasional  hare 
or  wildcat,  slip  by,  all  wondering  at  the  uproar,  but  all 
unmolested  alike.  For  the  honor  of  death  is  reserved 
to-day  for  the  tiger  only,  and  he,  as  a  rule,  is  the  last  of 
all  the  denizens  of  the  jungle  to  allow  his  repose  to  be 
broken,  or  to  confess  that  he  is  alarmed.  But  even  he 
has  eventually  to  admit  that  this  advancing  line  of  noisy 
men  means  danger,  and  so  he  retires  before  them,  creep- 
ing from  clump  to  clump  with  consummate  skill.  Yet 
the  «waying  tassels  of  the  tall  plumed  grass  betray  his 
moving,  and  on  a  sudden  he  finds  himself  in  the  ambush 
laid  for  him,  and  from  the  tree  above  him  or  from  some 
overhanging  rock  the  sharp  cracks  of  the  rifle  proclaim 
that  the  tyrant  of  the  jungle  is  dead. 

When  the  tiger  is  followed  up  with  elephants,  fresh 
elements  of  adventure  and  picturesqueness  are  added  to 
the  day's  sport  —  but  the  theme  is  an  old  one.  The 
fact,  however,  remains  that  whatever  the  method  em- 
ployed for  encompassing  his  death,  or  wherever  he  may 
be  found,  the  tiger  proves  himself  a  splendid  beast. 
If  he  can,  he  will  avoid  the  unfair  contest  with  bullet 
and  shell;  but  let  him  only  have  his  chance  and  he 


202  Unnatural  History. 

shows  both  man  and  elephant  how  regally  he  can  de- 
fend his  jungle  realm  against  them. 

His  voice,  it  has  been  contended,  is  not  regal.  To 
dispute  this  one  has  only  to  go  to  any  menagerie, 
where,  though  the  lion's  roar  may  be  the  loudest,  the 
tiger's  is  not  less  terrific.  Nor  when  he  is  heard  roam- 
ing abroad  in  the  jungles  in  the  night  can  anything  be 
imagined  more  terribly  weird  or  unnatural  than  his 
utterances. 

He  has  found,  perhaps,  that  a  pack  of  wild  dogs  — 
voiceless  hunters  of  the  forest  —  are  crossing  his  path  ; 
and  his  angry  protest,  delivered  in  rapid,  startling 
coughs,  is  certainly  among  the  most  terrifying  sounds  of 
Nature,  while  nothing  can  surpass  the  utter  desolation 
that  seems  to  possess  the  night  when  the  tiger  passes 
along  the  jungle  to  his  lair,  with  his  long-drawn,  whining 
yawn.  The  lion's  roar  is,  of  course,  unapproachable  in 
its  grandeur,  but  the  tiger  compresses  into  a  cough  and 
a  yawn  such  an  infinit}-  of  cruelty  and  rage,  such  un- 
fathomable depths  of  fierce  wild-beast  nature  as  cannot 
be  matched  in  forest  languages. 

Man-eating  tigers  and,  even  more,  man-eating  ti- 
gresses have  always  commanded  among  human  beings 
a  certain  awful  respect.  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered  at 
in  India,  when  each  j-ear's  returns  tell  us  that  about 
a  thousand  persons  perish  annually  b}T  these  brutes. 
When,  therefore,  to  the  word  "  tiger"  —  itself  a  syno- 
nym in  every  language,  civilized  or  savage,  for  stealtlvy, 
cruel,  strong-limbed  ferocity  —  is  prefixed  the  aggravat- 
ing epithet  of  "  man-eating,"  the  imagination  prepares 
itself  for  the  worst,  and  the  great  carnivore  stalks  past, 
in  the  mind's  e3res,  a  very  compendium  of  horrors,  bear- 
ing about  with  it  on  its  striped  hide  a  Newgate  Calendar 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  203 

of  its  many  iniquities.  But  is  it  not  just  possible  that 
the  sensitiveness  of  humanity  with  regard  to  itself  and 
all  that  pertains  to  its  own  security  and  dignity  may 
have  exaggerated  the  terrors  of  the  man-eater?  A 
lion-eating  tiger  would  in  reality  be  quite  as  fearful  a 
thing  as  one  that,  with  toothless  jaws  and  unnerved 
limbs,  falls  upon  miserable  men  and  women  ;  but  a  lion- 
eating  tiger  would  not  be  considered  an  abominable 
monster.  We  should  speak  of  it  as  a  wise  dispensation 
of  nature  for  keeping  the  equilibrium  among  the  carni- 
vora,  as  a  respectable  and  commendable  beast  that 
apologized  for  and  justified  its  own  existence  by  killing 
something  else  as  noxious  as  itself;  just  as  the  cock- 
roach has  retained  some  shreds  of  reputation  by  eating 
mosquitoes.  But  alas  for  the  tiger!  the  day  comes 
when  the  wretched  animal  is  so  ill-conditioned  that  its 
kith  and  kin  will  not  admit  its  relationship,  and  drive  it 
forth ;  so  feeble  that  the  wild  pig  turns  upon  it  and 
mocks  it ;  so  slow  of  foot  that  everything  escapes  from 
it ;  so  old  that  its  teeth  fall  out  and  its  claws  splinter ; 
and,  in  this  pitiful  state,  it  has  to  go  far  afield  for 
food.  It  has  to  leave  the  jungles  it  has  lorded  it  over 
for  so  many  years  ;  the  pleasant  pools  to  which,  in  the 
evening,  the  doomed  stag  used  to  lead  his  hinds  to 
water;  the  great  beds  of  reed  and  grass  in  which, 
lazily  basking,  it  heard  the  thoughtless  buffaloes  come 
grazing  to  their  fate,  crushing  down  the  tall  herbage  as 
they  sauntered  on ;  the  deep  coverts  of  bamboo  and 
undergrowth  where  the  nylghai  reposed  his  unwieldy 
bulk ;  the  grand  rock-strewn  lair,  whither  he  and  his 
tigress  used  to  drag  the  carcasses  that  were  to  feed 
their  cubs. 

But  where  is  he  to  go  in  his  old  age  ?    He  must  eat 


204  Unnatural  History. 

to  live,  but  what  hope  is  there  for  such  as  he  to  earn 
an  honest  meal?  "SVith  the  best  intentions  possible,  no 
one  would  believe  him.  His  mere  appearance  in  a 
village  suffices  to  empty  it  of  all  but  the  bedridden. 
What  is  he  to  do  ?  If  the  head  men  of  the  village  would 
only  stay  and  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  the  tiger,  it 
ma}*  be,  would  explain  his  conduct  satisfactorily,  and 
thenceforward  might  go  decently,  like  any  other  hungry 
wretch,  from  hamlet  to  hamlet,  with  a  begging-dish  in 
his  mouth. 

Here,  again,  societ}'  is  against  him.  In  India  the 
people  do  not  eat  meat,  not  enough  of  it,  at  any  rate, 
to  satisfy  a  tiger  on  their  leavings ;  and  to  offer  an 
empt}-  tiger  parched  grain  and  vegetable  marrows,  where- 
with to  fill  itself,  is  to  mock  the  animal  and  to  trifle  with 
its  tenderest  feelings.  So  the  tiger,  despairing  of  assist- 
ance or  even  sympathy,  looks  about  him  in  the  deserted 
village,  and,  finding  an  old  bedridden  female  in  a  hut, 
helps  himself  to  her  and  goes  away,  annoyed,  no  doubt, 
at  her  toughness,  but  all  the  same,  poor  eas}"  beast, 
glad  of  the  meal. 

Perhaps  it  is  such  a  one  as  this  that  was  caught  not 
long  ago  by  an  old  native  in  India,  in  a  pit.  A  man- 
eating  tiger  that  would  fall  into  a  pit  could  hardly  have 
been  in  the  enjoj-ment  of  the  full  complement  of  its 
senses  ;  and  when,  having  tumbled  like  a  sack  of  pota- 
toes into  the  hole,  we  hear  that  it  did  not  jump  out 
again,  but  permitted  itself  to  be  tied  up  and  carted 
away,  we  must  confess  that  something  of  the  awesome 
terrors  attaching  by  tradition  to  the  anthropophagous 
cat  fall  away  from  it.  An  average  sheep  would  have 
behaved  with  more  spirit. 

Meanwhile,  it  does  not  detract  from  the  gallantry  of 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  205 

the  capture,  or  the  originality  of  the  conception,  that 
the  tiger  should  have  behaved  so  tamely.  For  the  na- 
tive, there  can  be  only  one  feeling  of  respectful  admira- 
tion. It  would  not  occur  to  every  one  to  dig  a  hole 
for  a  tiger,  and  sit  by  with  a  rope.  But  the  capture, 
ridiculous  as  it  was,  has  had  some  precedents,  for  the 
terror  of  the  jungles  has  often,  from  pure  rashness, 
stumbled  into  ridiculous  positions  with  fatal  consequen- 
ces. Whether  it  is  true  that  two  British  sailors  once 
caught  a  tiger  by  tempting  him  into  a  barrel,  and  then, 
having  pulled  his  tail  through  the  bung-hole,  tying  a 
knot  in  it,  I  do  not  undertake  to  decide.  But  that  a 
tiger  has  been  taken  prisoner  in  a  blanket  is  beyond 
dispute ;  as  also  that  a  tiger,  having  thrust  its  head 
through  a  wicker  crate  which  was  filled  with  ducks, 
could  not  withdraw  it,  and  in  this  ignominious  plight, 
with  the  ducks  making  a  prodigious  noise  all  the  while, 
blundered  about  the  camp  until,  getting  among  the 
horses,  it  was  kicked  to  death.  Tigers  have  choked 
themselves  by  trying  to  swallow  frogs,  and  in  single 
combat  with  smaller  animals  been  shamefully  defeated. 
Thus  a  man-eating  tiger  of  immense  proportions, 
at  one  time  the  pride  of  the  Calcutta  collection,  was 
killed  under  circumstances  that  covered  it  with  ridicule. 
It  happened  that  a  fighting  ram  belonging  to  a  soldier 
in  one  of  the  regiments  cantoned  in  the  neighborhood, 
became  so  extremely  troublesome  that  the  colonel 
ordered  it  to  be  sent  to  the  Zoological  Gardens.  Yet 
there  it  was  as  troublesome  as  ever,  and  being  no  curi- 
osity, though  excellent  mutton,  it  was  decided  to  give 
it  to  the  great  tiger.  So  ferocious  was  this  creature 
supposed  to  be  that  it  had  a  specially  constructed  cage, 
and  its  food  was  let  down  through  a  sliding  grating  in 


206  Unnatural  History. 

the  roof.  Down  this,  accordingly,  the  ram  was  lowered. 
The  tiger  was  dozing  in  the  corner,  but  when  it  saw 
the  mutton  descend,  it  rose  and,  after  a  long  sleepy 
yawn,  began  to  stretch  itself.  Meanwhile,  the  ram, 
who  had  no  notion  that  he  had  been  put  there  to  be 
eaten,  was  watching  the  monster's  laz}-  preparations  for 
his  meal  with  the  e}*e  of  an  old  gladiator,  and,  seeing  the 
tiger  stretch  himself,  supposed  the  fight  was  commenc- 
ing. Accordingly  he  stepped  nimbly  back  to  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  stage,  just  as  the  tiger,  of  course,  all 
along  expected  he  would  do,  —  and  then,  which  the 
tiger  had  not  in  the  least  expected,  put  down  his  head 
and  went  straight  at  the  striped  beast.  The  old  tiger 
had  not  a  chance  from  the  first,  and  as  there  was  no 
way  of  getting  the  ram  out  again,  the  agonized  owners 
had  to  look  on  while  the  sheep  killed  the  tiger ! 

Nor  are  such  instances  at  all  uncommon.  Old  cows 
have  gored  them,  village  dogs  have  worried  them, 
horses  have  kicked  their  ribs  to  fragments,  and  even 
man  himself,  the  proper  lawful  food  of  the  man-eating 
tiger,  has  turned  upon  his  consumer,  and  beaten  him  off 
with  a  stick.  When  a  tiger  can  thus  be  set  at  naught  by 
his  supper,  he  hardly  deserves  all  the  reverent  admira-" 
tion  with  which  tradition  and  stor3*-books  have  invested 
him,  and  which  an  untravelled  public  has  superstitiousl}* 
entertained  towards  him. 

"  Generally  speaking,"  says  Dr.  Jerdon,  a  great 
authority  on  Indian  zoolog}',  ' '  the  Bengal  tiger  is  a 
harmless,  timid  animal.  When  once  it  takes  to  killing 
man  it  almost  alwa}'s  perseveres  in  its  endeavors  to 
procure  the  same  food ;  and,  in  general,  it  has  been 
found  that  very  old  tigers,  whose  teeth  are  blunted  or 
gone,  and  whose  strength  has  failed,  are  those  that 
relish  human  food,  finding  an  easy  prey." 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  207 

Now,  I  would  contend,  there  is  no  malignity  here. 
The  picture,  indeed,  is  a  pathetic  one.  Content,  so  long 
as  it  had  good  eyesight  and  sound  teeth,  to  hunt  wild 
beasts,  the  tiger,  at  an  age  when  comfort  and  idleness 
should  have  been  its  lot,  is  compelled,  poor  wretch,  to 
quit  its  natural  haunts  for  the  highways  of  men  and 
their  habitations.  Its  life  becomes  now  a  terror  to  it- 
self; and  the  very  quest  for  food  is  no  longer  the 
supreme  pleasure  it  was  in  the  days  when  it  flashed  like 
a  streak  of  flame  from  its  ambush  upon  the  stately 
sambhur  —  or  stalked  with  consummate  skill  the  waty 
bison,  and  then  plunging  upon  the  great  beast,  bore  it 
to  the  ground  by  the  terrific  impetus  of  its  spring,  and 
stunned  it  into  beef  with  one  tremendous  blow.  In 
those  strong,  fierce  days,  its  roar  silenced  the  many- 
voiced  jungle  ;  but  now,  as  it  creeps  among  the  growing 
crops,  or  lurks  in  the  shadow  of  the  village  wall,  it  has 
to  hold  its  breath,  lest  a  sound  should  betray  it  into 
danger.  For  everything  is  now  a  peril  to  it,  even  a 
compan}'  of  unarmed  men,  or  a  pack  of  village  curs,  or 
a  herd  of  kine.  So  it  lays  its  helpless  old  body  close 
along  the  ditch,  where  some  weeds  suffice  to  hide  its 
terror-striking  appearance,  once  its  pride  but  now  its 
ruin,  and  waits  by  the  pathway  for  some  returning 
villager,  man,  woman,  or  child,  some  belated  goat  or 
wandering  calf.  To  be  sure  of  its  dinner  it  must  be 
certain  there  will  be  no  resistance,  and  every  meal 
is,  therefore,  snatched  with  anxiety  and  fear.  To  such 
a  life  of  degradation  and  shame  does  the  splendid  quad- 
ruped descend  in  toothless  old  age  ! 

The  lesser  carnivora,-as  they  are  called,  play  a  very 
important  part  in  the  political  system  of  the  beasts. 


208  Unnatural  History. 

They  are  the  great  feudatory  princes  and  independent 
barons  of  the  wild  world. 

Claiming  kinship  with  royalty,  the}r  possess  within 
their  respective  earldoms  all  the  privileges  of  inde- 
pendent sovereigns  and  the  powers  of  life  and  death. 
At  the  head  of  fierce  clans  they  defy  the  central  author- 
ity, and  retiring  within  their  own  demesnes  maintain 
there  almost  regal  state.  Such  are  the  pumu,  jaguar, 
leopard,  and  panther. 

The  puma,  indeed,  calls  itself  the  lion  in  South 
America ;  the  leopard,  the  tiger  among  the  Zulus  and 
throughout  South  Africa ;  and  the  panther  is  the  tiger 
of  Ceylon.  But  of  these  four  furred  princes,  the  jaguar 
rises  most  nearly  to  the  standard  of  royalty,  and  it  is 
certainly,  both  in  appearance  and  the  circumstances  of 
its  life,  a  splendid  cat. 

Unaccustomed  to  being  annoyed,  travellers  see  him 
in  broad  daylight  lying  stretched  out  at  full  length  on 
the  soft  turf,  under  the  shade  of  some  Amazonian  tree, 
thoroughly  careless  of  danger,  because  so  completely 
unused  to  being  attacked.  The  explorer's  boat  passing 
along  the  river  does  not  make  him  do  more  than  raise 
his  head,  for  the  river  is  not  in  his  own  domain.  It  be- 
longs to  the  cayman  and  the  manatee,  and  it  is  their 
business,  not  his,  to  see  to  the  boat.  Wherever  he  goes 
animal  life  is  so  abundant  that  he  finds  no  trouble  in 
securing  food,  and,  like  the  negroes  of  the  Seychelles, 
he  grows,  from  pure  laziness  and  full  feeding,  sleek, 
large-limbed  and  heavy.  His  coat  becomes  strangely 
glossy,  soft  and  close ;  the  colors  on  it  deepen  and  grow 
rich  in  sumptuous  shades  of  velvety  chestnut,  brown  and 
black ;  his  limbs  thicken,  his  body  plumps  out,  and  his 
jaws  assume  the  full  sensual  contour  characteristic  of 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  209 

tropical  man.  He  moves  along  with  a  lounging  gait, 
often  resting  as  he  goes ;  and  his  eyes,  as  he  turns  his 
head  incuriously  to  this  side  or  to  that,  are  large  and  soft 
and  lustrous  ;  while  his  voice,  when  he  takes  the  trouble 
to  warn  away  any  incautious  peccary  or  indiscreet  eapy- 
bara,  is  rich  and  low  in  tone.  In  every  aspect,  in  fact, 
the  jaguar  presents  himself  to  the  mind  as  a  pampered 
child  of  Nature,  the  representative  in  the  beast  world  of 
the  Creole  and  negro  of  the  Seychelles.  In  those  won- 
drous islands  the  black  man  spends  his  da}*  in  utter  idle- 
ness, l}'ing  on  the  white  sea-beach  or  under  the  -bread- 
fruit trees,  smoking  the  cigars  his  wife  makes,  watching 
the  big  fish  chasing  the  little  ones  in  the  lagoon,  or  his 
-fowls  scratching  among  the  wild  melon  beds.  When  he 
is  hungry  his  wife  goes  down  to  the  sea  and  catches  a 
fish,  one  of  his  children  plucks  a  pile  of  plantains  and 
shakes  down  the  green  cocoanuts ;  and  thus,  indolent 
and  full  fed,  he  grows,  like  the  jaguar,  sleek  and  strong, 
with  gloss\-  skin  and  huge  limbs. 

The  puma  is  a  companion  of  the  jaguar,  but  they  sel- 
dom meet,  for  mutual  respect  defines  for  them  their  re- 
spective domains,  and  neither  cares  to  trespass  on  the 
other.  Nature  has  been  equally  kind  to  both,  but  the 
puma  is  of  a  restless  temperament,  and  neither  the 
abundance  of  food  nor  the  temptations  of  the  Brazils  to 
idleness  are  enough  to  damp  its  energy.  There  is 
something  of  the  immigrant  and  colonist  about  it.  It  is 
perpetually  in  quest  of  adventure  or  work  to  do,  climb- 
ing about  among  the  interwoven  foliage,  or  prowling 
among  the  brushwood  of  more  open  country.  Its  one 
great  object  in  life  seems  to  be  the  chase,  for  the  sport's 
sake,  for  it  kills  far  more  than  it  can  ever  eat,  and  often 
indeed  does  not  attempt  to  consume  its  prey.  This  has 

14 


210  Unnatural  History. 

given  the  puma  a  character  for  ferocity  in  works  of 
natural  history  which  its  appearance  in  a  cage  would 
hardby  justify,  for  its  comfortable  fur  and  sleek  limbs 
might  be  thought  to  belong  to  a  gentler  creature. 

The  leopard  and  panther  are  to  the  east  what  the 
jaguar  and  puma  are  to  the  west ;  and  their  lives,  whether 
we  consider  the  kindliness  of  Nature  to  them  or  their 
strange  immunity  from  harm,  are  equally  to  be  envied. 
They  live,  it  is  true,  within-the  empire  of  the  tiger,  but 
only,  as  in  the  days  of  the  Heptarch}",  the  Mercian  or 
the  Northumbrian  prince  would  have  called  himself 
within  the  realm  of  the  Bretwalda ;  or  as,  in  the  early 
days  of  France,  the  dukes  of  Soissons  or  of  Burgundy 
were  subject  to  Paris ;  or,  earlier  still,  only  as  Acar- 
nania  or  Locris  confessed  the  hegemony  of  Sparta. 
There  is  respect  on  both  sides,  and  therefore  a  large 
measure  of  peace  within  the  earldoms  and  duchies  of 
the  big  cats. 

The  domesticated  cat  is  an  animal  that  can  be  best 
approached  sideways.  Direct  description,  that  is  to 
say,  does  not  bring  out  its  peculiarities  quite  so  well  as 
the  oblique  form,  which  throws  slanting  lights  upon  the 
subject.  To  illustrate  my  meaning,  let  us  take  that 
frivolous  proposition  of  the  French  to  impose  a  tax 
upon  cats  ;  and  following  it  out,  note  how  the  character 
of  the  animal  develops  itself  by  incidence. 

How  the  tax  is  to  be  collected  no  senator  ventured  to 
explain,  and  when  the  project  comes  to  the  touchstone 
of  practice  we  may  confidently  expect  it  to  fall  through. 
For  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  the  collection  of  such  a 
tax  are  immense.  It  is  true  they  are  not  all  on  the  sur- 
face, and  so  the  impost  may  at  the  first  glance  pass  as 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  211 

'plausible ;  but,  in  reality,  it  would  be  hardly  less  easy 
to  assess  the  householder  on  the  mice  that  might  infest 
his  kitchen,  or  the  sparrows  that  hop  about  on  his  win- 
dow-sill, than  upon  the  vagabond  grimalkins  that  may 
choose  to  "  squat "  upon  his  premises.  Putting  on  one 
side,  however,  the  fact  that  both  the  social  and  the  do- 
mestic systems  would  be  shaken  to  their  foundations  by 
the  exaction  of  such  a  duty,  — that  every  cook  would  be 
set  in  opposition  to  her  master  b}'  being  called  upon  to 
pay  the  tax  or  dismiss  her  cat,  —  there  remains  this  one^ 
great  difficulty  to  a  successful  collection  of  a  tax  on  cats, 
that  no  one  would  pay  it.  Some  few  eccentric  persons  — 
those,  for  instance,  who  pay  "conscience  money" — • 
would,  no  doubt,  come  forward  to  be  mulcted,  but  the 
vast  majority  of  ratepayers  would  simply  disclaim  pos- 
session of  cats,  and  throw  the  onus  of  proof  upon  the 
rate-collectors.  "  My  cat!  "  the  landlady  would  say  to 
him,  feigning  astonishment,  "  Bless  you,  that's  not  my 
cat !  It  came  in  quite  promiscuous  one  night,  and  I 
have  been  trying  ever  since  to  drive  it  away.  If  you 
don  't  believe  me,  sir,  you  can  take  it  away  with  you 
now." 

Under  the  circumstances,  what  could  a  collector,  with 
ordinary  human  feelings,  say  or  do?  Is  he  to  throw 
discredit  upon  a  respectable  person's  statement,  —  sup- 
ported, moreover,  by  her  unmistakable  sincerity  in  offer- 
ing the  cat  there  and  then  to  the  representative  of  Gov- 
ernment, —  by  assessing  her  in  spite  of  her  protests  ? 

Moreover,  if  the  landlady,  before  his  very  eyes,  should 
proceed  to  hunt  the  cat  out  of  her  parlor,  should,  far- 
ther, chase  it  downstairs  into  the  kitchen  with  a  duster, 
thence  through  the  scullen*  into  the  back  garden,  and, 
not  content  with  that,  pursue  it  even  to  the  uttermost 


212  Unnatural  History. 

angle  of  the  garden  wall,  so  that  it  should  be  entirely  off 
her  premises,  the  collector's  position  would  be  greatly 
aggravated ;  for  what  uiore  could  a  person  do  than  this 
to  prove  that  there  was  no  conspiracy  in  the  matter,  no 
attempt  at  fraudulent  evasion  of  a  legal  demand  ?  It  is 
true  that,  if  she  were  of  a  nimble  kind,  the  landlady 
might  prosecute  her  chase  even  farther,  and  not  desist 
until  she  had  seen  pussy  fairly  out  of  the  ward ;  but  it 
surely  has  not  come  to  this,  in  a  free  country  too,  that 
elderly  ladies  must  satisfy  tax-collectors  by  such  vio- 
lent exercise,  to  the  detriment  of  their  domestic  and 
other  duties ;  or,  because  a  minion  of  the  law  insists 
upon  it  that  wherever  a  cat  is  to  be  found  there  it  is  to 
be  taxed,  that  females  of  all  ages,  delicately  nurtured  it 
may.be,  or  otherwise  incapacitated  from  rapid  pursuit 
of  animals,  are  to  be  set  running  about  the  streets  and 
climbing  trees,  in  order  to  rid  themselves  of  importu- 
nate cats  !  The  idea  is  preposterous. 

Here,  indeed,  I  have  touched  the  very  heart  of  the 
difficult}-,  for  a  cat  does  not  of  necessity  belong  to  the 
place  where  she  is  found.  Cats,  in  fact,  belong  to 
nowhere  in  particular.  They  are  called  domestic,  I 
know,  but  they  are  really  not  so  at  all.  The}"  come  in- 
side houses  for  warmth,  and  because  saucers  with  milk 
in  them  are  more  often  found  in  houses  than  on  garden 
walls,  or  in  the  roads,  or  up  in  trees ;  because  street 
boys  do  not  go  about  throwing  stones  in  houses,  and 
because  there  are  no  idle  dogs  there,  looking  round  cor- 
ners for  something  to  hunt. 

Besides,  when  it  rains  it  is  dry  inside  a  house,  as 
compared  with  out  of  doors,  and  sleep  can  be  more 
comfortably  airived  at  in  the  daytime  under  a  kitchen 
dresser  than  in  such  exposed  and  draughty  spots  as  the 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  213 

roofs  of  outhouses  or  under  the  bushes  in  the  garden  of 
the  square.  The  cat,  therefore,  comes  into  our  midst 
from  motives  of  pure  self-interest  alone,  joins  the  do- 
mestic circle  simply  for  the  sake  of  the  comforts  it 
affords  her,  and  seats  herself  upon  our  particular  hearth 
and  home  only  because  she  finds  herself  warm  there, 
and  safe. 

But  at  heart  she  is  a  vagabond,  a  tramp,  and  a  gypsy. 
She  is  alwaj's  "  on  the  patter."  Our  dwelling-places 
ate  realty  only  so  many  casual  wards  to  her,  and  she 
looks  upon  the  basement  floor  of  our  houses  as  a  fortui- 
tous but  convenient  combination  of  a  soup-kitchen  and 
a  lying-in  hospital.  When  homeless  she  does  not  drown 
herself  in  despair,  or  go  and  buy  poison  from  a  chemist 
and  kill  herself.  On  the  contrary,  she  avoids  water 
with  all  the  precaution  possible,  even  so  much  as  a  pud- 
dle on  the  pavement,  and  carefully  sniffs  everything  she 
sees  lying  about  before  she  thinks  of  trying  to  eat  it. 

Nor  does  she,  in  .desperation,  go  and  steal  something 
off  a  stall,  in  order  to  get  locked  up  in  shelter  for  the 
night,  for  she  has  instincts  that  teach  her  to  avoid  the 
coarse  expedients  with  which  homeless  and  starving 
humanity  has  so  often  to  make  such  pathetic  shift.  The 
cat's  plan  is  the  simplest  possible.  She  merely  walks 
along  the  street  as  far  as  the  first  house,  and,  to  guard 
against  passing  dogs,  puts  herself  at  once  on  the  right 
side  of  the  railings.  Here  she  sits  until  the  back-door 
opens,  and  as  soon  as  she  sees  a  domestic  coming  out 
she  mews  plaintively.  If  the  domestic  saj-s  shoo  to  her, 
she  shoos  at  once,  for  she  understands  that  there  is 
one  cat  already  in  the  house.  But  she  onby  goes  next 
door,  and  there  repeats  her  manoeuvre.  The  odds  are 
that  the  next  kitchen-maid  does  not  say  shoo  to  her, 


214  Unnatural  History. 

but  only  calls  out  to  somebody  else  inside,  "  Here's  a 
cat  on  the  steps,  a-inewing  like  anything."  The  ad- 
venturer, meanwhile,  has  got  up  and,  still  mewing,  rubs 
herself  suggestively  on  the  post,  arching  up  her  back 
and  leaning  very  much  on  one  side  —  to  show,  no  doubt, 
that  she  has  no  other  visible  means  of  support.  The 
kitchen-maid  duly  reports  the  cat's  proceedings,  and 
some  original-minded  domestic  at  once  hazards  the  sug- 
gestion that  "the  poor  thing  has  lost  hisself."  This 
bold  hypothesis  is  at  once  accepted  as  satisfying  all  the 
conditions  of  the  problem,  and  ultimately,  from  one 
guileful  gesture  to  another,  the  cat  is  found  at  last  rub- 
bing herself—  still  very  much  put  of  the  perpendicular 
and  still  mewing  —  against  the  cook's  skirts  in  front  of 
the  kitchen  fire. 

A  cat  has  as  keen  an  instinct  for  a  cook  as  a  policeman 
has,  and  makes  straight  for  her.  A  strange  dog,  they 
say,  will  find  out  the  master  of  a  house  at  once,  and  im- 
mediately attach  itself  to  him.  The  cat,  however,  does 
not  trouble  herself  about  such  superficial  differences  of 
position  as  these,  but  goes  without  hesitation  to  the  great 
dispenser  of  creature  comforts,  the  cool-.  Masters,  she 
says,  are  untrustworthy* ;  the}'  come  and  go,  and  in 
some  houses  do  not  even  exist  at  all ;  but  the  kitchen  fire 
is  a  fixed  star,  and  the  cook  a  satellite  that  may  always 
be  depended  upon  to  be  found  revolving  in  her  proper 
orbit.  She  attaches  herself,  therefore,  to  this  important 
domestic  at  once,  and  forthwith  becomes  our  cat. 

Yet  she  is  onl}'  our  cat  as  distinguished  from  the 
cat  next  door.  In  no  other  sense  is  she  ours  at  all. 
The  chances  are  that  the  master  of  the  house  does  not 
even  know  that  there  is  such  an  animal  on  the  establish- 
ment Upon  one  occasion,  certainly,  he  remembers 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  215 

rudely  expelling  a  cat,  more  in  anger  than  in  sorrow, 
which  he  found  in  the  library  ;  but  he  had  no  idea,  prob- 
ably, when  he  had  it  raked  out  from  under  the  furniture, 
that  it  was  a  pensioner  of  his  household,  and  a  recog- 
nized retainer.  Now,  how  can  such  a  man  be  called 
upon  to  pa)*  a  tax  on  a  cat?  The  animal,  by  every  one's 
confession,  quartered  itself  by  guile  upon  the  premises, 
and  belongs  to  nobody.  The  cook  says  it  can  go 
(for  she  knows  very  well  that  it  will  immediately  come 
back  again),  and  even  the  tax-collector  could  hardly, 
under  the  circumstances  of  a  general  disclaimer,  persist 
in  assessing  the  little  animal.  As  I  have  already  pointed 
out,  therefore,  the  presence  of  a  cat  in  a  house  does  not 
imply  ownership  in  the  householder,  for  it  would  be  just 
as  fair  to  infer  from  the  presence  of  a  tea-party  of  cats 
in  a  back  yard  that  the)'  all  belonged  to  the  contiguous 
house.  A  cat  is  at  home  nowhere,  for  she  makes  her- 
self at  home  everywhere.  All  workhouses  are  much  the 
same  to  paupers.  It  is  very  difficult,  therefore,  to  see 
how  the  collector  will  collect  his  tax.  His  alternatives 
will  be  equally  disagreeable,  for  he  must  either  refuse  to 
believe  what  he  is  told  on  oath  by  every  person  he  calls 
upon,  or  else  he  must  remove  the  cats.  For  this  purpose 
he  would  have  to  go  about  accompanied  by  some  con- 
veyance not  smaller  in  size  than  a  train-car,  for  any 
ordinary  Square  in  the  suburbs  would  supply  enough 
cats  to  fill  a  large  vehicle.  And  when  he  has  got  them, 
what  will  he  do  with'them?  Cats  cannot  be  impounded 
—  except  in  a  well,  and  even  then  it  would  be  necessary 
to  keep  the  lid  down ;  nor  would  it  be  permissible  in 
these  days  of  advanced  humanity  to  destroy  them  by 
cremation  as  if  they  were  so  much  condemned  stores  ; 
nor  could  they  be  served  out  to  the  parochial  author- 


216  Unnatural  History. 

ities  for  the  sustenance  of  the  aged  poor.  No  decent 
person  would  consent  to  be  a  pauper  and  to  live  in  a 
workhouse  under  conditions  that  involved  cat  soup. 
The  question,  in  fact,  is  beset  with  immense  difficul- 
ties ;  for  one  of  two  things  must  happen  wherever  the 
tax-collector  calls,  — either  injustice  must  be  perpetrated 
upon  the  householder,  or  the  law  be  brought  into  con- 
tempt. Now,  if  some  plan  could  be  devised  for  ascer- 
taining precisely  whose  cats  they  are  that  always  pass 
the  nights  in  such  melancholy  hilarity  in  their  neighbors' 
gardens,  and  if  these  particular  cats  could  be  either 
heavily  taxed  or  carted  off —  say,  to  the  Canadian  fron- 
tier—  Government,  I  feel  sure,  and  I  speak  for  myself 
at  all  events,  might  depend  upon  the  hearty  co-opera- 
tion of  the  public.  As  the  project  stands  at  present, 
however,  a  universal  cat-tax  appears  to  me  impossible. 
As  another  sidelong  illustration  of  cat  character,  let 
us  take  the  case  of  the  gentleman  found  looking  for  a  lost 
cat  at  one  in  the  morning  in  a  neighbor's  till,  — a  pro- 
ceeding which  may  be  called,  at  any  rate,  curious. 
"Whether  he  was  really  doing  so  or  not,  the  magistrate 
before  whom  the  case  came  had  to  decide  for  himself. 
The  narrative  itself  is  sufficient  for  my  present  purpose. 
Mr.  James  Cartwright,  aged  twenty-one,  was  charged,  in 
a  London  police-court,  with  breaking  into  a  rag-dealer's 
house  at  midnight,  and  stealing  a  gold  mourning  ring 
and  twenty-six  shillings,  for  after  an  exciting  chase  over 
the  roofs  of  several  outbuildings  he  had  been  caught,  and 
the  stolen  property  above  referred  to  was  found  upon 
him.  Mr.  Cartwright,  in  explanation  of  his  position, 
said  that  he  was  looking  for  a  cat  which  he  had  lost. 
The  simplicity-  of  the  defence  is  charming,  and  the 
readiness  with  which  it  was  offered  no  less  admirable, 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  217 

for  it  is  one  of  the  virtues  of  thought  that  it  should  be 
rapid,  and  one  of  the  essentials  in  a  hypothesis  that  it 
should  be  simple.  Mr.  Cartwright's  mind  must  have 
flashed  to  its  decision  on  the  instant,  and  the  only 
hypothesis  that  could  possibly  have  covered  all  the 
suspicious  circumstances  —  the  hour  of  his  capture,  the 
position  on  the  roof  of  an  outbuilding,  the  headlong 
scramble  over  adjoining  premises  —  was  at  once  off  his 
tongue.  He  was  looking  for  a  cat. 

What  more  natural,  he  would  ask,  than  that  puss 
should  have  gone  out  at  night,  should  have  been  on  the 
roof  of  an  out-building,  and  should  have  tried  to  elude 
capture  by  hasty  flight  over  other  roofs?  Mr.  Cart- 
wright,  no  doubt,  was  much  attached  to  his  little  friend 
—  I  can  hardly  call  a  cat  a  dumb  companion  —  and 
having  missed  it  from  the  hearth,  braved  the  discom- 
forts of  the  night  air  by  going  forth  to  seek  it  in  its 
favorite  haunts,  which  with  cats  are  always  a  neighbor's 
premises.  Failing  to  see  it  at  the  first  cursor}*  glance, 
he  determined  to  go  farther,  but  apprehending  resistance 
from  the  cat,  he  armed  himself  with  an  iron  bar  which  a 
neighboring  rag-dealer  used  for  securing  a  side-door, 
and,  the  door  happening  to  open,  Mr.  Cartwright, 
naturally  enough,  went  into  the  house  to  look  for  his 
pet.  In  his  pathetic  anxiety  he  searched  every  place, 
whether  probable  or  improbable  —  and  eventually  the 
till. 

The  sight  of  the  money  in  it  probably  suggested  to 
him  the  feasibility  of  bribing  the  cat  to  return,  and  he 
took  sufficient  for  the  purpose  —  twent}T-six  shillings  — 
and  in  his  then  forlorn  and  disconsolate  condition  the 
mourning  ring  naturally  occurred  to  him  as  an  appro- 
priate and  becoming  possession.  Had  he  found  the  cat 


218  Unnatural  History. 

he  would,  no  doubt,  have  restored  the  ring  and  the 
money  too,  and  mended  the  door  as  well ;  but,  unfortu- 
nateby,  before  his  object  was  accomplished,  and  at  the 
moment  of  hottest  pursuit  after  the  vagabond  animal,  he 
was  himself  captured,  and,  the  circumstances  looking 
suspicious  (which  it  must  be  candidly  admitted  they 
did) ,  he  was  taken  up  and  committed  for  trial. 

Looking  for  a  cat  at  night  requires  good  eyes,  and 
might  have  been  safely  given  to  Hercules  as  an  ad- 
ditional labor.  For  the  cat  is  of  an  evasive  kind.  Its 
person  is  so  inconsiderable  that  small  holes  suffice  for 
its  entrances  and  its  exits,  while  a  very  trifling  patch  of 
shadow  is  enough  to  conceal  a  whole  soiree  of  cats.  Its 
feet,  again,  are  so  admirably  padded  that  it  makes  no 
noise  as  it  goes,  and  having  been  born  to  habits  of  sud- 
den and  silent  escape,  it  vanishes  from  the  vision  like  a 
whiff  of  mist.  Terrier  dogs  think  the  cat  a  mean  ani- 
mal, and  they  have  some  reason  on  their  side,  for  the 
cat  never  scruples  to  profit  by  every  possible  advantage 
which  nature  or  accident  may  offer.  Not  content  with 
having  actually  escaped,  it  perches  itself  comfortably 
upon  a  branch  or  roof  just  out  of  the  pursuer's  reach  ; 
and  while  the  latter,  frantic  with  tantalizing  hopes,  is 
dancing  on  its  hind  legs  beneath  it,  the  cat  pretends  to  go 
to  sleep,  and  blinks  blandly  upon  the  gradually  despond- 
ing acrobat.  Grimalkin  has  always  this  nice  conscious- 
ness of  safety,  and  does  only  just  sufficient  to  secure  it, 
enjoying  for  the  rest  the  pleasure  of  watching  its 
baffled  adversary.  Instead  of  disappearing  altogether 
from  sight  through  the  kitchen  window,  the  cat  is  con- 
tent with  squeezing  through  the  area  railings,  and  sit- 
ing on  the  window-sill  in  full  view  of  the  demented 
terrier,  who  can  only  thrust  half  his  head  through  the 


Cats  and  Sparroivs.  219 

bars,  and  stands  there  whimpering —  "  for  the  touch  of 
a  vanished  cat  and  the  sound  of  a  puss  that  is  still." 

There  is  one  more  charge  against  the  cat,  that, 
though  well  cared  for  and  well  fed.  she  affects  a  home- 
less condition  and,  going  out  on  the  pantiles,  fore- 
gathers with  other  vagabonds  of  her  kind,  and  in  their 
company  indulges  in  the  music  of  the  future,  ex- 
pressive of  many  mixed  emotions,  but  irregular  and 
depressing. 

Cats  seem  saddest  when  they  trespass.  At  home  they 
are  silent,  but  entering  a  neighbor's  premises  the}'  at 
once  commence  to  confide  their  sorrows  to  the  whole 
parish  in  melanchol}-  dialogue,  which  in  the  morning  are 
found  to  have  been  accompanied  by  violent  saltations 
upon  the  flower-beds.  Altogether,  therefore,  the  cat 
out  at  night  is  one  who  deserves  to  be  caught,  and  Mr. 
James  Cartwright  certainty  had  my  sympathies  in  the 
object  of  his  search.  But  for  the  means  he  employed  to 
catch  the  cat  it  is  impossible  to  entertain  more  than  a 
very  indifferent  degree  of  respect.  In  the  first  place, 
he  might  have  looked  for  his  cat  before  one  in  the  morn- 
ing, which  is  an  unconscionable  hour  to  go  running  over 
the  roofs  of  neighbors'  outhouses.  Nor  in  his  search 
need  he  have  wrenched  off  the  iron  bar  which  closed  the 
rag-dealer's  door,  for  it  is  not  in  evidence  th.at  his  cat 
was  of  any  extraordinar}-  ferocity  or  proportions  re- 
quiring so  formidable  a  weapon  of  capture  ;  nor,  again, 
need  he  have  looked  in  the  till  for  his  cat.  Landladies' 
cats,  it  is  notorious,  go  into  remarkable  places,  and 
sometimes  demean  themselves  in  a  manner  quite  sur- 
prising in  such  small  animals  ;  for  they  will  play  on  the 
lodger's  piano  with  dirty  fingers,  toy  on  the  lodger's 
bonnets,  and  eat  prodigious  quantities  of  the  lodger's 


220  Unnatural  History. 

dessert,  after  taking  the  key  of  the  chiffonnicre  out  of  the 
pocket  of  the  dress  that  was  hanging  in  the  wardrobe  in 
the  bedroom.  Mr.  Cartwright's  cat,  however,  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  of  this  kind,  and,  unless  its  master 
meant  to  bribe  the  cat  to  return  to  him,  all  other 
methods  failing,  I  do  not  see  why  he  should  have  taken 
the  twenty-six  shillings.  The  mourning  ring  is  more 
comprehensible,  perhaps ;  but,  on  the  whole,  there  was 
a  doubtful  complexion  about  that  cat-hunt  which  cer- 
tainly justified  the  severe  view  which  the  magistrate 
took. 

The  proper  food  of  the  cat,  the  common  or  garden 
cat,  is  the  sparrow  (Spar.  Britannicus) .  The  sparrow's 
favorite  food  is  }~our  garden  seeds.  When  he  sees  }~ou 
at  work  the  ingenuous  bird  surve}-s  }'our  operations,  and, 
pleased  with  the  liberal  feast  prepared,  informs  his 
friends  of  the  fact.  As  a  rule  they  accept  his  invitation 
cordiall}\  The  diligence  of  the  sparrow  in  eating  what 
does  not  belong  to  him  is  very  remarkable,  and  no- 
where more  conspicuous  than  in  the  back  garden.  Sit- 
ting on  the  spouts  or  chimney-pots  of  the  houses  round, 
he  remarks  all  that  goes  on  beneath,  makes  a  note  of 
the  cat  that  has  just  gone  under  the  currant  bush  at  Xo. 
25,  and  ponders  at  the  top  of  his  voice  on  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  inhabitants  of  the  row  generally.  Satis- 
fied that  seed-sowing  is  in  progress  in  one  of  the 
gardens,  he  descends,  and  having  collected  his  friends, 
remains  with  them  upon  the  scene  of  operations,  indus- 
trious to  the  last. 

With  one  little  black  e}'e  applied  close  to  the  surface 
of  the  soil,  and  the  other  doing  general  duty  by  keeping 
a  watch  upon  the  overlooking  windows,  whence  sudden 
missiles  might  issue,  he  continues  his  patient  but  cheerful 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  221 

scrutiny  until  certain  that  nothing  remains.  It  is  of  no 
use  trying  to  tempt  him  from  the  larcenous  repast  by  the 
exhibition  of  honest  viands  upon  the  adjoining  path  ;  for 
he  knows,  perhaps,  that  the  bread  will  wait  for  him,  but 
that  if  he  does  not  eat  the  seed  at  once  it  will  be 
grown  beyond  his  powers  of  digestion.  When  he  has 
nothing  else  to  do,  he  will  make  fun  of  the  crumbled 
loaf ;  will  provoke  his  acquaintances  to  chase  him  by  fly- 
ing off  with  the  largest  lump  ;  will  play  at  prisoner's  base 
with  it,  or  drop  it  down  gratings  ;  will  carry  it  up  to  the 
roof  of  a  house  and  lose  it  down  a  spout ;  will  do  any- 
thing with  it,  in  fact,  but  eat  it  iu  a  proper  and  thankful 
manner. 

The  back-garden  sparrow,  indeed,  is  a  fowl  of  very 
loose  moralit}-,  but  his  habits  of  life  have  so  sharpened 
his  intelligence  that  the  cats  find  it  as  difficult  to  catch 
him  as  the  policemen  do  the  urchins  of  the  streets. 
Rustic  sparrows,  country-bumpkin  birds,  fall  clumsily 
into  the  snares  of  the  village  tabby,  but  in  the  back  gar- 
dens of  urban  districts  the  cat  very  seldom  indeed  brings 
the  birds  to  bag.  It  is  not  that  the  quadruped  has  lost 
her  taste  for  sparrows,  or  that  she  has  forgotten  all  her 
cunning,  for  now  that  the  shrubs  are  in  leaf,  and  afford 
her  convenient  ambuscade,  she  may  be  seen  on  any 
sunny  morning  practising  her  old  wild-life  arts  in  order 
to  circumvent  the  wily  sparrow.  But  domestication 
blunts  the  feline  intelligence,  and  after  a  long  residence 
in  kitchens,  and  daily  familiarities  with  milkmen,  the 
spell  of  civilization  and  its  humdrum  ways  of  life  falls 
upon  her,  and,  though  she  may  hunt  for  sport,  the  com- 
fortable assurance  of  a  saucer  daily  replenished  dulls 
her  enthusiasm  for  strange  meats  ;  and,  without  forget- 
ting that  the  sparrow  is  toothsome,  she  remembers  more 
than  she  used  to  do  that  the  sparrow  is  also  nimble. 


222  Unnatural  History. 

I  have  observed  that  the  controversy  as  to  whether 
sparrows  are  blessings  or  otherwise  to  the  farmer,  and 
whether,  in  these  da}'s  of  bad  harvests,  when  almost 
every  grain  of  corn  is  precious,  the  little  birds  should 
be  encouraged  or  exterminated,  is  one  that  is  regularty 
revived. 

All  the  poets  have  formal!}*  denounced  the  sparrow, 
"the  meanest  of  the  feathered  race,"  and  how  shall 
any  one  be  found  to  speak  well  of  him?  The  best  that 
can  be  said  in  the  defence  of  the  familiar  little  fowl  is 
very  bad  indeed,  for  no  criminal  code  that  yet  exists 
would  suffice  to  exhaust  the  calendar  of  his  crimes  and 
convict  him  for  all  his  offences.  Not  only  does  the 
sparrow  despise  police  regulations  and  make  sport  of 
by-laws,  but  he  affronts  all  our  standards  of  ethics, 
public  morality,  and  religion.  In  a  church  he  behaves 
with  no  more  decorum  than  in  a  court  of  justice,  and 
whether  in  the  pulpit  or  the  dock  betrays  an  unseemly 
levity  that  will  require  the  utmost  extension  of  the  Ar- 
minian  doctrines  of  universal  grace  to  compass  his  sal- 
vation. He  is  the  street  boy  among  birds,  and  his 
affronts  are  gratuitous  and  unprovoked.  It  is  of  no 
use  to  retort  upon  him,  or  threaten  him  with  the  law. 
The  water-pipe  suffices  as  an  answer  to  every  repartee, 
be  it  a  gibe  or  a  menace ;  and  when  a  sparrow  has 
hopped  up  a  long  spout,  who  would  care  to  bandy  argu- 
ments with  him  ?  Impervious  to  the  battery  of  exhorta- 
tion, he  perches  on  the  window-sill,  invulnerable  to  the 
most  formidable  assaults  of  reason  or  the  most  ferocious 
onsets  of  sarcasm,  and  thorough!}-  comprehends  upon 
which  side  of  the  glass  he  sits.  Pelt  him  with  hard 
names,  and  he  only  chirps  monotonously ;  but  if  you 
throw  a  stone  at  him,  you  must  pay  for  the  damages. 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  223 

The  sparrow  carries  no  purse,  for  he  steals  all  lie 
wants  ;  and  his  name  is  in  no  directory,  for  he  lives 
everywhere.  His  address  is  the  world,  and  when  chang- 
ing his  residence  he  apprises  no  one.  There  is  no  city 
whose  freedom  he  has  not  conferred  upon  himself,  and 
no  corporation  whose  privileges  he  does  not  habitually 
usurp.  Collectors  of  rates  might  well  despair  if  directed 
to  get  their  dues  from  him,  and  school  boards  need  not 
hope  for  his  reclamation.  A  long  immunit}-  from  re- 
prisals has  so  emboldened  this  feathered  gamin  that  he 
seems  now  to  fear  nothing,  riding  on  omnibuses  free  of 
charge,  occupying  tenements  without  paj'ing  rent,  and 
feeding  everywhere  at  no  cost  to  himself. 

Such,  summarized,  would  stand  the  indictment  against 
the  sparrow,  —  a  contemner  of  all  law,  and  a  rebel  against 
all  order,  a  criminal  egotist  of  a  very  serious  type.  But 
what  can  be  said  for  the  defence  ?  That  he  is  consist- 
ently the  friend  of  the  farmer  is  still  disputed,  and  that 
he  fills  any  important  place  in  the  economy  of  nature,  a 
close  observation  of  his  habits  must  make  ever}'  one 
doubt.  Imported  into  foreign  countries  as  "  the  friend 
of  man,"  the  sparrow,  in  Australia  as  well  as  in  America, 
has  multiplied  into  a  public  nuisance  ;  and  in  return  for 
the  gift  of  new  worlds  to  colonize,  the  graceless  birds 
have  developed  into  a  multitudinous  evil.  They  have 
also  been  called  ' '  the  nightingales  of  our  roofs,"  and  if 
they  remained  upon  the  roofs  only  they  might  be  per- 
mitted to  retain  the  flattering  title  of  nightingales. 
Since,  however,  they  come  down  off  the  slates  into 'our 
houses  and  swagger  about  in  our  pleasure-grounds  and 
business  premises  alike,  giving  us  in  return  no  pleasant 
song,  their  claims  to  the  honor  of  ' '  the  queen  of  the 
feathered  choir  "  cannot  be  gravel}*  entertained.  Upon 


224  Unnatural  History. 

the  house-tops,  if  they  always  stopped  there,  we  might 
extend  to  them  a  generous  admiration  ;  but  when  they 
contest  with  us  the  habitations  which  we  have  built  for 
ourselves,  and  repay  us  for  our  protection  with  impu- 
dence only,  such  sympathy  is  difficult. 

How  then  can  he  be  defended,  this  chief  vagabond  of 
the  air?  On  his  merits  he  stands  categorically  convicted, 
and  for  his  shortcomings  it  is  difficult  to  find  excuse  or 
palliation.  Did  he  ever  suffer  from  winter  as  the  wild 
things  of  copse  and  hedge  do,  or  from  drought,  or  from 
the  encroachments  of  civilization,  his  small  presump- 
tions might  pass  unchallenged,  as  do  those  of  the  robins 
and  the  finches.  But  for  him  there  is  no  frost  so  severe 
that  it  checks  the  supply  of  food  in  the  streets,  no  snow 
so  thick  that  it  blocks  up  the  sparrow's  entrance  to  goods, 
sheds,  and  storehouses.  His  year  has  no  Ramazan  for 
him.  For  drought  or  flood  he  cares  as  little.  His 
nurseries  do  not  suffer  by  rising  rivers,  nor  are  his 
meals  curtailed  b}-  any  severity  of  the  seasons.  Nor 
yet  when  man,  advancing,  pushes  back  the  domains  of 
wild  things  in  waste  land  and  wood,  does  the  sparrow 
share  in  the  troubles  which  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  song- 
sters of  the  countryside.  Wherever  man  goes  he  fol- 
lows him,  a  parasite  of  his  grain  bags ;  and  no  city  in 
which  our  countrymen  have  settled  is  without  him. 

I  remember  myself  noticing,  during  the  late  campaigns 
in  Afghanistan  and  Zululand,  how  the  sparrows  went 
wherever  the  commissariat  wagons  went,  and  established 
a  colony  at  every  depot.  They  crossed  the  Cabul  River 
and  the  Buffalo  with  our  armies,  claiming  at  once 
privileges  of  conquest  which  our  generals  hesitated  to 
assert.  They  levied  instant  toll  on  the  grain  fields,  and 
billeted  themselves  upon  the  natives. 


Cats  and  Sparrows.  225 

The  area  of  their  prevalence  coincides  with  the  em- 
pire of  white  men,  for  wherever,  and  as  soon  as,  the  flag 
goes  up,  in  sign  of  the  white  man's  rule,  the  sparrow 
perches  on  the  top  of  it.  Ships  of  all  nations  carry 
him  as  a  stowawaj*  from  port  to  port,  and,  thus  defraud- 
ing ever}-  company  alike,  these  birds  range  the  world, 
settling  where  they  will.  And  everywhere  the  sparrow 
is  safe  alike. 

And  who  cares  to  catch  him?  Youth,  it  is  true,  lays 
preposterous  snares  of  bricks  to  entrap  him,  and  spar- 
row clubs  conspire  against  him  ;  but  no  sportsman  goes 
out  to  make  a  prey  of  him.  Who,  indeed,  would  ex- 
pend time  and  patience  in  fetching  a  compass  about  a 
sparrow,  or  sit  a  summer's  day  with  net  and  line,  de- 
coy-bird and  call,  with  a  sparrow  before  his  mind  as  his 
reward  ? 

Abroad,  also,  the  sparrow's  arrival  is  hailed  with 
patriotic  glee,  and  municipalities  incontinent!}"  go  to  and 
legislate  for  his  protection.  The  sparrow  soon  discovers 
that  he  is  favored,  and  no  sooner  makes  the  discovery 
than  he  presumes  upon  it.  Selecting  prominent  corners 
of  public  buildings,  he  stuffs  rubbish  into  the  crevices  of 
the  friezes,  and  advertises  by  long  rags  which  he  leaves 
fluttering  and  flapping  outside  that  he  has  built  a  nest. 
Secure  from  cats  and  assured  of  man's  patronage,  he 
thrives  and  multiplies  his  kind,  each  generation  adding 
to  the  general  stock  of  effrontery  and  presumptuously 
acquired  privileges,  until  nations  turn  in  wrath  upon 
their  oppressors.  Men  hired  for  the  purpose  rake  out 
the  sparrows'  nurseries  from  under  the  eaves  of  the 
churches,  and  purge  the  town-hall.  But  the  sparrow 
cares  little  for  such  clumsj7  retaliation.  One  house  is 
as  good  as  another,  and  as  for  a  nest  being  destroyed, 

15 


226  Unnatural  History '. 

he  is  glad  of  an  excuse  for  beginning  the  houe}-moon  all 
over  again. 

And  this  reminds  me  that  it  is  not  only  in  his  public 
character  that  this  vagabond  fowl  calls  for  animadver- 
sion. In  private  life  his  conduct  is  disreputable.  As 
a  frivolous  parent,  given  to  rolling  eggs  out  of  the 
nest,  and  even  also  his  infant  progeny  ;  as  an  unworthy 
spouse,  transferring  his  affections  lightl}',  and  often  as- 
saulting the  partner  of  his  jo}~s  and  sorrows  ;  as  a  bad 
neighbor,  scuffling  with  his  kind  wherever  he  meets  with 
them,  —  in  each  aspect  he  presents  himself  to  the  moral 
mind  as  undeserving  of  respect.  Yet,  with  something 
of  that  eccentricity  of  judgment  which  commends  Punch, 
the  immoral  consort  of  Judy,  to  the  public  regard,  we 
persist  in  looking  upon  the  sparrow,  with  all  his  notori- 
ous faults,  as  a  popular  favorite,  and  resent  any  ex- 
posure of  his  obliquities. 

The  t}Tann}-  of  the  sparrow,  in  fact,  is  the  price  of 
civilization.  Only  savages  are  exempt. 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Rats.  227 


VI. 

BEARS  —  WOLVES  —  DOGS  —  EATS. 

Bears  are  of  three  kinds,  Big  Bears,  Middle-sized  Bears,  afld 
Little  Wee  Bears.  —  Easily  Provoked.  —  A  Protest  of  Routine 
against  Reform.  —  But  Unreliable.  —  Unfairly  Treated  in  Liter- 
ature. —  How  Robbers  went  to  steal  the  Widow's  Pig,  but  found 
the  Bear  in  the  Sty.  —  The  Delightful  Triumph  of  Convictions 
in  the  Nursery.  —  The  Wild  Hunter  of  the  Woods.  —  Its  Splen- 
did Heroism.  —  Wolf-men.  —  Wolf-dogs.  —  Dogs  we  have  all 
met.  —  Are  Men  only  Second-rate  Dogs?  —  Their  Emotions  and 
Passions  the  same  as  ours.  —  The  Art  of  Getting  Lost.  —  Man 
not  inferior  to  Dogs  in  many  ways.  —  The  Rat  Epidemic  in 
India. — Endemic  in  England.  —  Western  Prejudice  and  East- 
ern Tenderness.  —  Emblems  of  Successful  Invasion.  —  Their 
Abuse  of  Intelligence  —  Edax  Rerum. 

BEARS  are  of  three  kinds,  as  every  child  knows. 
There  is  the  Great  Big  Bear,  the  Middle-sized 
Bear,  and  the  Little  Wee  Bear.  They  are  all  of  a  do- 
mestic kind,  and  generally  go  out  for  a  walk  in  the 
forest  before  breakfast,  in  order  to  give  their  porridge 
time  to  cool.  When  met  with  in  a  wild  state  they  can 
be  easily  distinguished  by  their  size,  and  by  their  sub- 
sequent conduct,  for  the  bigger  the  bear  is  the  more  of 
you  it  will  eat.  If  there  is  not  much  of  }-ou  left  when  it 
has  done,  you  ma}7  decide  without  hesitation  that  it  was 
the  Big  bear  you  met :  while  if  you  are  only  moderately 
consumed,  }'ou  may  safely  conclude  it  was  the  Middle- 
sized  bear.  The  Little  Wee  Bear,  or  bear-kin,  will  only 


228  Unnatural  History. 

trifle  with  you,  take  a  mere  snack,  as  it  were  —  make  a 
trifling  collation  or  luncheon,  so  to  speak,  off  you. 

But  if  still  in  doubt  as  to  the  species  encountered,  the 
Hindoo  student's  description  of  the  bheel  may  assist 
the  stranger  in  arriving  at  a  correct  conclusion,  for  the 
Big  bear  is  black,  "  only  much  more  hairy,"  and  when 
it  has  killed  you  it  leaves  your  body  in  a  ditch.  By 
this  }'ou  may  know  the  Big  bear. 

But,  unless  provoked  to  attack  you,  these  creatures 
will  not  do  so ;  so  naturalists  assure  us.  A  bear's 
notions  of  provocation,  however,  are  so  peculiar  that 
perhaps  the  safest  rule  for  strangers  to  observe  is  not  to 
let  the  animal  see  you.  The  bear  never  attacks  any 
person  whom  it  cannot  see.  This  is  a  golden  rule  for 
persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of  meeting  bears  to  ob- 
serve. 

Otherwise  there  seem  to  be  no  limits  to  a  bear's  provo- 
cations. If  it  comes  up  behind  you,  and  finds  you 
not  looking  that  way,  it  knocks  off  the  back  part  of 
3'our  head  with  one  blow  of  its  curved  claws  ;  and  if  it 
meets  you  face  to  face  it  knocks  off  the  front  part  of 
your  head.  But  there  is  nothing  agreeable  in  this 
variety.  Again,  if  it  discovers  you  sitting  below  it  on 
the  same  hillside  as  itself,  it  rolls  itself  up,  and  comes 
trundling  down  the  slope  upon  top  of  you  like  an  ill- 
tempered  portmanteau  ;  or  if  it  is  down  below  you,  and 
becomes  provoked,  it  comes  scrambling  up  the  hill  with 
a  speed  that  in  a  creature  of  such  a  shape  is  described, 
by  those  who  have  been  charged,  as  quite  incredible. 
Sometimes,  on  the  other  hand,  bears  receive  very  solid 
provocation  without  showing  any  resentment,  for,  as 
Captain  Kinloch,  a  noted  Indian  Shikarry,  has  told  us, 
the  amount  of  lead  which  an  old  black  bear  will  carry 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  229 

away  in  his  quarters  is  amazing.  But,  as  a  rule,  bears 
will  not  stand  nonsense.  It  is  well  known  how  they 
behaved  in  the  matter  of  Goldylocks,  who,  after  all,  had 
only  eaten  up  the  Little  Wee  Bear's  porridge,  and 
broken  the  seat  of  the  Little  "Wee  Bear's  chair,  and 
gone  to  sleep  in  Little  Wee  Bear's  bed.  Yet,  if  the 
family  had  caught  her,  poor  Goldylocks  would  probably 
never  have  got  home  to  her  mother  to  tell  the  tale. 

This  characteristic  animosity  to  man  has  given  many 
writers  on  the  bear  a  handle  for  great  unfairness  to- 
wards it. 

I  far  prefer,  myself,  to  see  in  the  bear  only  some  dull- 
witted,  obstinate  Mars,  pathetic  Jubal,  or  rough  but 
staunch  Sir  Bors ;  some  slumberous  man  of  might,  a 
laz}-  Kwasind,  or  sluggard  Kambu  Kharna;  an  easily 
befooled  Giant  Dumbledore  or  Calabadran  ;  some  loyal 
Earl  Arthgal  of  the  Table  Round,  or  moody  Margrave 
of  Brandenberg  —  both  of  whom  did  not  despise  the 
fighting  sobriquet  of  the  Bear.  For  myself,  I  think  no 
worse  of  the  bear  than  Toussenel  does,  —  indeed,  hardly 
so  badly  ;  for  I  hesitate  to  agree  with  him  that  it  sym- 
bolizes only  the  spirit  of  persistent  savagery,  the  incor- 
rigible protest  of  Routine  against  Reform  ;  that  it  is  the 
feral  incarnation  of  hostility  to  progress,  and  the 
champion-in-arms  of  the  pretended  rights  of  the  Beast 
against  the  authority  of  Man.  Men  of  science  assure 
us  that  it  is  one  of  the  senior  quadrupeds  of  the  earth  ; 
and  it  was  certainly  the  first  among  them  that  arrived 
at  any  idea  of  using  fore  paws  as  hands.  But  unfortu- 
nately for  itself  it  has  never  raised  itself  an}-  further  in 
the  scale ;  and  now  that  it  has  been  driven  into  the 
forest  and  wilderness,  it  seems  to  consider  itself  un- 
fairly displaced,  and  sulkily  maintains  in  the  solitudes  of 


230  Unnatural  History. 

the  hills  the  character  of  a  misanthrope,  the  laudator 
temporis  acti,  the  Legitimist  in  retreat. 

But,  unfortunately  for  it,  even  in  Russia,  where  the 
animal  is  held  in  semi-reverential  awe,  its  flesh  is  con- 
sidered a  dainty  by  the  hard-living  races  among  whom 
it  has  raised  its  gloom}'  standard  of  protest,  and  its  skin  is 
valued  everywhere  ;  while  its  pomatum  —  the  pomade  de 
lion  of  Paris,  the  "  bear's  grease"  of  London  —  is  alone 
sufficient  for  its  utter  ruin.  Pretenders  should  be  poor 
if  the}*  wish  to  be  unmolested.  Yet  the  bear  obstinately 
maintains  the  unequal  struggle,  appealing  to  its  semi- 
erect  posture,  its  hand-like  paws,  its  almost-absent  tail, 
and  its  innocent  tastes,  for  the  clemency  and  considera- 
tion of  man.  It  would,  too,  recall  the  facts  of  history, 
and  remind  us  how,  in  the  olden  days  of  Roman  beast- 
fights,  the  bear  was  hissed  from  the  arena  because  it  re- 
fused to  fight  with  the  Christians  and  other  captives  pro- 
vided for  it ;  and,  pointing  to  the  East,  would  remind  us 
that  there  it  is  called  a  generous  brute,  because  it  will 
not  molest  the  dead.  If  a  man  pursued  by  a  bear 
feigns  death,  the  bear  passes  on  after  a  most  cursory 
examination,  generous!}-  preferring  to  be  thus  easily  de- 
ceived rather  than  push  examination  beyond  the  limits  of 
good  taste.  You  shall  also  see  in  this  way  a  truly  benev- 
olent man  giving  alms  to  a  beggar  sooner  than  scruti- 
nize too  narrowly  the  necessity  for  giving  relief. 

But  I  fear  that  none  of  these  pleas  avail  the  bear,  for 
it  is  impossible  to  forget  how  lamentable  are  the  exc£p- 
tions  to  that  innocent  appetite  for  leaves  and  berries 
and  roots  which  it  displays  in  Europe,  and  how  abomi- 
nably carnivorous  are  the  grizzly  bear  of  America,  and 
the  polar  bruin  of  the  Arctic  snows.  These  are  facts 
beyond  dispute  —  but  I  would  not  be  unjust.  I  would 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  231 

not  throw  in  their  teeth,  as  some  have  done,  the  con- 
duct of  those  she-bears  of  Judea,  who  avenged  the  touch}- 
prophet  by  desolating  the  nurseries  of  all  the  country- 
side, for  that  was  a  miracle  over  which  the  she-bears  had 
no  control.  Nor.  would  I  give  credence  to  Daniel, 
when  he  takes  the  bear  as  an  emblem  of  faithlessness  ; 
nor  to  the  libellous  narrative  of  Gesner,  who  tells  us 
how  bears  make  a  practice  of  stealing  young  women ; 
nor  yet  would  I  admit  in  evidence  the  mocking  eulogies 
of  ^Elian.  Pliny  and  Aristotle  are  of  course  to  be  dis- 
credited, and  we  must  therefore  come  to  modern  times 
to  find  the  bear  justly  judged.  The  delightful  La  Fon- 
taine speaks  of  it  as  a  blundering  friend,  and  points 
the  moral  by  the  story  of  the  bear  who,  wishing  to  brush 
away  the  fly  that  disturbed  its  master's  slumbers,  acci- 
dentally knocked  off  the  top  of  its  master's  skull;  and 
Artemus  Ward  tells  us  how  it  can  be  taught  to  do 
"  many  interestin'  things,  but  is  onreliable." 

But,  after  all,  this  is  no  excessive  disparagement, 
and  within  the  moderate  limits  of  justice. 

Among  the  stories  which  have  delighted  children  of 
all  countries,  and  probably  from  all  time,  is  one  that  tells 
how  certain  evil-minded  men  went  to  steal  a  widow's 
pig,  but  how  they  found  a  bear  in  the  sty  instead,  and 
how  thereupon  disaster,  sudden  and  complete,  overtook 
the  robbers. 

Xo  child  ever  doubted  the  truth  of  that  story ;  indeed 
how  could  it  be  doubted  ?  It  is  well  known  that  widows 
do  as  a  fact  frequentty  keep  a  pig,  and  where  should  they 
keep  it  but  in  a  sty?  Again,  thieves  are  notorious^ 
given  to  stealing,  and  what  could  be  more  advantageously 
purloined  than  a  pig,  —  above  all  a  pig  belonging  to  a 


232  Unnatural  History. 

lone  and  unprotected  widow  ?  It  is  not  with  swine  as 
with  poultry  or  cattle,  for  the  pig  can  be  eaten  up  from 
end  to  end  ;  even  his  skin  makes  crackling,  and  nothing 
need  be  left  behind.  There  are  no  accusing  feathers  to 
lie  about  the  scene  of  larcenous  revel,  as  is  the  case 
when  hens  have  been  devoured  by  stealth,  and  no  bulky 
hide  and  horns  to  get  rid  of  on  the  sly,  as  happens 
whenever  robbers  irregularly  consume  a  neighbor's  cow 
or  calf.  Again,  a  widow  is,  as  a  rule,  a  person  who  lives 
alone  —  I  confidently  appeal  to  all  story-books  to  sup- 
port this  statement  —  and,  except  for  such  assistance  as 
her  cat  can  give  her,  is  virtually  defenceless  at  midnight 
against  a  number  of  armed  and  determined  men.  A 
widow's  pig  is  therefore,  and  be}-ond  all  doubt,  just  the 
very  thing  to  get  itself  stolen,  and  indeed  we  would 
venture  to  say  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  always  is 
stolen. 

•  Is  it  not  natural,  then,  in  children  to  believe  implicitly 
the  story  we  refer  to  ?  As  for  the  other  incidents  of  it 
—  those  in  which  the  bear  takes  a  prominent  part  —  the}*, 
too,  are  exactly  such  as  might  be  expected  to  occur  fre- 
quently under  similar  circumstances. 

A  poor  bear-leader  on  his  way  to  the  neighboring 
town  is  benighted,  on  a  stormy  evening,  in  a  solitary 
place  — just  such  a  place  as  widows  live  in  —  and,  know- 
ing from  a  large  and  varied  experience  of  men  and  cities 
that  widows  are  kind  of  heart,  he  intercedes  for  a  night's 
lodging  for  himself  and  his  beast.  It  is  no  sooner  asked 
than  granted.  The  widow  turns  the  cat  off  the  hearth 
to  make  room  for  the  man,  and  the  pig  out  of  his  sty 
to  make  room  for  the  bear.  The  cat  and  the  pig  grumble, 
of  course,  at  having  to  make  their  own  arrangements  for 
the  night ;  but,  at  any  rate,  the  sacred  duties  of  hospital- 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  233 

it}'  have  been  faithfully  discharged,  and,  in  the  sequel, 
the  widow  is  rewarded.  The  stormy  night  has  suggested 
itself  to  certain  good-for-nothing  vagabonds  —  who,  in 
their  tramps  along  the  road,  have  marked  down  the 
widow's  pig  for  their  prey  —  as  an  excellent  opportunity 
of  coming  at  some  home-fed  bacon  cheapl}- ;  and,  un- 
conscious of  the  change  of  occupant,  stealthity  approach 
the  st}',  hoping,  under  cover  of  the  night,  high  wind,  and 
pelting  rain,  to  carry  off  the  porker  in  a  sack  which  they 
have  provided  for  the  purpose.  How  differently  the  case 
falls  out  is  quickly  told.  The  bear,  instead  of  allowing 
itself  to  be  put  into  the  sack  like  a  lamb,  gets  up  on  its 
hind  legs,  and  nearly  kills  the  robbers. 

From  first  to  last  the  story  has  always  been  completely 
credible,  for  given  a  widow  with  a  pig,  a  man  with  a 
bear,  and  robbers  with  a  sack,  the  incident  is  one  that 
might  happen  at  any  time. 

Such  being  the  story,  so  consistent  in  its  circumstances 
and  so  complete  in  its  action,  it  is  very  pleasing  to  find 
that  the  implicit  faith  of  children  in  it  has,  after  all,  been 
rewarded  by  its  actual  occurrence.  Everything  is  true 
that  really  happens,  and  it  does  not  matter  whether  the 
story  or  the  event  cornea  first.  Where  the  incidents 
have  already  actually  transpired,  and  a  writer  sits  down 
to  describe  them,  the  narrative  is,  no  doubt,  often  excel- 
lent, vivid,  picturesque,  faithful,  and  so  forth.  Never- 
theless, it  is  rather  a  commonplace  performance  after  all, 
and  depends  for  its  virtues  either  upon  the  state  of  the 
narrator's  eyesight  and  his  propinquity  to  the  scene  of 
the  event,  or  else  to  his  judicial  capacity  for  appraising 
the  value  of  the  evidence  of  others.  But  where  the 
writer  describes  occurrences  which  have  not  yet  occurred, 
the  merits  of  his  work  are  infinite!}-  enhanced  ;  and  the 


234  Unnatural  History. 

wisdom  of  the  prophets  is  nowhere  more  conspicuous 
than  in  their  selection  of  this  method  of  narration. 

They  made  it  a  rule  to  speak  before  the  event,  instead 
of  after  it,  and  it  is  owing  almost  entirely  to  this  that 
their  utterances  have  been  so  highly  spoken  of. 

Truth,  it  is  said,  is  stranger  than  fiction  ;  and  so  it  is  in 
a  certain  sense,  because  it  is  in  the  nature  of  fiction  to  be 
strange  ;  but  truth  is  a  prosaic,  every-day  sort  of  thing, 
.and  when  it  is  romantic  it  strikes  the  mind  as  being 
peculiarly  wonderful.  We  do  not  as  a  rule  expect  facts 
to  surprise  us ;  so  when  they  do,  they  startle  us  much 
more  than  any  narrative  ever  created  by  novelist  or 
poet.  In  that  case  they  are  more  like  fiction  than  fiction 
itself,  and  are  therefore  all  the  more  charming.  Thus, 
"The  Bear  in  the  Pig-sty"  story  ma}7  be  considered 
admirable,  while  a  pleasure  is  superadded  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  the  faith  of  childhood,  which  is  at  once  the 
most  solemn  and  the  most  fascinating  attribute  of  that 
reverend  and  delightful  age,  has  not  been  trifled  with 
and  betrayed.  That  the  story  was  true  the  children 
have  known  all  along,  but  now  everybodj'  knows  it  too, 
and  acknowledges  that  the  children  were  right. 

At  the  village  of  Massegros,  in  France,  only  the  other 
day,  a  bear-man  came  along  the  road  with  a  bear,  and 
asked  for  a  night's  lodging,  and  the  bear  was  put  into 
the  pig-sty.  At  night  three  men  came  to  steal  the  pig ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  one  of  the  men  died,  the  second 
very  nearly,  and  the  third  went  mad  with  fright.  The 
bear  did  it — just  as  it  was  written  in  the  story-book 
years  upon  years  ago  —  and  the  pig  is  back  in  Ins  sty 
again. 

No  wonder  one  man  went  mad  from  fright,  for  the 
difference  between  pigs  and  bears  is  very  considerable ; 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Rats.  235 

and  the  thief  putting  out  his  arm  to  take  hold,  as  he 
thought,  of  the  sleek  and  inoffensive  porker,  might  well 
be  startled  out  of  his  senses  to  find  himself  handling  the 
shagg}r  hide  of  a  bear.  The  horror  of  the  discover}-,  the 
utter  impossibility  of  guessing  what  had  happened, 
the  first  bewildering  instant  when  Bruin  rose  with  a  roar 
from  the  litter,  the  next  of  horrid  and  inexplicable  pain 
as  the  great  brute  closed  with  its  assailant,  combined  to 
make  such  an  experience  as  might  well  terrify  the  reason 
out  of  a  man.  Suddenness  and  darkness  are  the  most 
awful  allies  of  the  dreadful,  and  when  to  these  are  added 
a  consciousness  of  guilt  and  superstitious  fear,  the  wits 
might  easily  take  to  flight,  and  a  cunning  thief  go  out  a 
gibbering  idiot. 

For  those  who  were  hurt,  —  fatally,  so  the  report  saj's, 
—  the  horrors  of  the  incident  were  in  one  sense  even  ag- 
gravated, as  the  bear  is  monstrousl}-  cruel  in  its  attack. 
Thus  natives  of  India  look  upon  the  wounds  which  it 
inflicts  with  even  greater  dread  than  the}'  regard  those 
from  a  tiger,  for  the  fatter  are  either  clear  gashes  or 
bone-shattering  blows  ;  but,  as  a  rule,  the  bear,  stand- 
ing erect  before  it  closes  with  a  man,  strikes  at  the  head 
and  its  huge  blunt  claws  tear  the  skin  down  off  the  scalp, 
and  over  the  face,  or  lay  the  throat  bare,  in  either  case 
blinding  and  stunning  the  unhappy  wretch.  The  pain 
of  even  such  an  attack  as  that,  however,  could  hardly 
increase  for  the  unfortunate  men  the  terrors  of  their  posi- 
tion, when  there  rose  up  out  of  the  pig's  straw  the  giant 
apparition  of  a  growling  beast,  a  great  black  monster  all 
hair  and  fury,  that  was  upon  them  in  an  instant,  roaring 
like  an  earthquake,  and  striking  with  the  arms  of  a  giant. 
No  wonder  that  two  of  the  three  are  dead,  and  the  other 
'one  is  mad! 


236  Unnatural  History. 

But  the  triumph  of  virtue  was  delightfully  complete, 
and  the  pig  came  by  its  own  again.  The  widow  who 
hospitably  entertained  the  homeless  bear-man,  and  the 
cat  that  surrendered  her  corner  by  the  fire  to  the 
stranger  were  rewarded ;  the  wicked  men  who  went 
about  stealing  pigs  were  punished,  and  the  story  of  the 
old  fairy-tale  book  came  true. 

The  moral  of  this  evidently  is  that  no  one  should  re- 
fuse charity  even  to  bears,  and  no  one  should  steal  pigs  ; 
for,  though  bear  ham  is  good,  it  is  not  the  same  as  pork 
ham,  and  it  is  better  to  save  your  own  bacon  than  to 
steal  your  neighbor's.  There  is  a  second  moral  also, 
and  that  is  that  children  are  wiser  than  grown-up  people, 
inasmuch  as  they  believe  that  there  is  nothing  so  won- 
derful but  it  may  really  come  to  pass,  and  that  everjT- 
thing  which  will  happen  has  already  happened  before. 
Children  never  give  over  expecting  and  hoping,  and  this 
is  why  they  alone  are  never  disappointed,  and  why  they 
deserve  so  thoroughly  to  enjoy  the  triumph  of  their  con- 
victions. 

The  wolf  is  a  creature  of  very  bad  character,  and 
deserves  most  of  it.  Born  of  poor  but  dishonest 
parents,  he  inherits  the  family  instinct  for  crime,  and 
industriously  commits  it.  No  jury  would  recommend 
him  to  mercy,  even  on  the  score  of  jrouth,  nor  any 
chaplain  pretend  after  execution  that  the  deceased  had 
died  repentant. 

Contrition,  it  is  true,  is  a  mandrake.  It  springs  up 
under  the  gallows.  . 

But  the  wolf,  even  in  the  very  shadow  of  death  re- 
mains a  wolf  still,  and,  according  to  the  condition  of 
his  stomach,  shows  either  one  abominable  phase  of  his 


Leers,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  237 

character  or  the  other.  If  hungry  he  is  abject,  and 
curls  himself  up  meekly  to  receive  the  fatal  blow,  dying 
without  half  the  protest  that  even  a  healthy  lamb  would 
make.  But  if  he  has  just  dined  he  snarls  and  snaps  to 
the  last.  Yet  even  the  wolf  has  found  his  apologists. 

"We  have  been  told  that  he  is  only  a  dog  gone  wrong, 
that  evil  communications  have  corrupted  his  original 
manners,  and  that  under  more  wholesome  home  influ- 
ences he  might  have  developed  into  a  good  dog  Tray, 
instead  of  the  bandit  and  assassin  that  he  is. 

The  poetry  of  crime,  however,  is  a  dangerous  theme, 
and  when  sentiment  indulges  itself  upon  the  pictur- 
esqueness  of  a  criminal's  career,  it  is  liable  to  degener- 
ate into  a  whimsical  justification  of  wrong-doing  and  its 
doer.  I  can  appreciate  the  solemnity  of  the  wolfs 
murders,  supreme  tragedies  as  they  often  are  —  or  the 
splendor  of  its  ravages  when,  Attila-like,  it  descends 
upon  the  fat  plains  to  scourge  the  lowland  folk  —  or  the 
nobility  of  its  recklessness  as,  from  age  to  age,  it 
challenges  man  to  the  unequal  conflict  —  or  the  heroism 
which  sends  it  out  alone  into  the  haunts  of  men  to  carry 
away  a  child,  so  that  its  ow,n  whelps  may  not  starve. 
Xor  in  all  the  records  of  human  violence  is  there  to  be 
found  anything  more  tremendous  than  the  deadly  pa- 
tience with  which  the  trooped  wolves  pursue  their  vic- 
tims, or  the  fierce  elan  with  which  they  launch  themselves 
from  the  forest  depths  upon  the  passing  prey.  A  party 
of  eighty  Russian  soldiers,  fully  armed,  were  moving  in 
mid- winter  from  one  post  to  another,  when,  just  as  the 
shades  of  evening  were  closing  round  them,  an  im- 
mense pack  of  wolves  — scouring  the  black  counts-side 
for  food  —  came  suddenly  across  their  line  of  march. 
Rather  than  swerve  from  their  course,  the  intrepid 


238  Unnatural  History. 

brutes  fluug  themselves   upon  the   soldiers,    and   tore 
every  man  of  the  detachment  to  pieces. 

This  is  literally  an  instance  of  that  "  Berserker  rage," 
that  fearless,  unarmed  rage  of  which  the  Scandinavian 
chroniclers  tell  us  in  terms  of  awesome  admiration,  so 
long  as  the  heroes  were  the  fair-bearded  men  who 
followed  their  Erics  and  Olafs  to  the  sea.  Now,  for 
myself,  I  do  not  grudge  the  same  admiration  to  the 
wolf  when  it  acts  as  bravely  as  'those  old  heroes  of  the 
Sagas,  especially  since  the  Norsemen  themselves,  to  ex- 
press the  intensity  of  their  valor  and  the  surpassing 
ferocity  of  their  attack,  had  to  go  to  the  wolf  for  a 
simile.  But,  after  all,  no  pleading  can  avail  the  wolf, 
for  the  whole  history  of  man  —  black  or  white,  brown, 
red  or  }-ellow  —  convicts  these  animals  of  persistent  and 
ineradicable  wickedness — rising,  often,  it  is  true,  to  a 
considerable  dignity  in  the  proportions  and  manner  of 
their  crime,  but  as  a  rule  taking  rank  only  as  misde- 
meanants of  the  lowest  type. 

Children  looking  at  wolves  always  greet  them  as 
bow-wows,  and  in  their  pretty  sympathy  offer  the 
wild  hunter  of  the  forest  morsels  of  bun.  Such 
cates,  however,  are  not  to  the  wolfs  taste  ;  he  would  far 
rather  have  the  children  themselves.  But  he  knows 
that  that  is  out  of  the  question,  so  he  blinks  his  e}'es 
wearily,  and  with  a  sharp  expression  of  discontent  at 
his  lot  resumes  his  restless  motion  up  and  down  the 
cage. 

Only  very  young  children,  however,  mistake  the  wolf 
for  a  dog,  for  there  is  that  in  its  ughy  eyes,  set  so  close 
together  and  so  sinister  in  their  expression,  that  tells  the 
elder  ones  that  the  creature  before  them  is  no  dog,  or, 
at  any  rate,  not  an  honest  specimen.  Besides,  nursery 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Rats.  239 

stories,  fairy  tales,  and  fables  have  taught  them  long  ago 
the  likeness  of  the  wolf  and  its  character,  and  the  first 
look  at  the  sharp  snout  set  in  gray  fur  reminds  them  of 
that  face  that  little  Red  Riding  Hood  found  looking  out 
at  her,  one  fine  May  morning,  from  under  her  dear  old 
•grandmother's  nightcap.  If  the  literature  of  the  nursery 
has  thus  familiarized  the  wolf  to  the  younger  generation, 
their  elders  also,  of  whatever  nation  they  may  be,  and 
whatever  language  they  may  speak,  have  continued  to 
learn  from  a  hundred  sources  of  the  implacable  brute 
(the  totem  of  the  Pawnees)  that  makes  the  great  high- 
ways of  forest  and  plain  in  Northern  and  Eastern 
Europe  and  the  mountain  paths  of  the  Pyrenees  and 
Apennines  so  perilous  to  belated  travellers,  — that  robs 
the  Indian  mothers  of  their  children,  or  pulls  down  the 
solitary  wood-gatherer  as  he  goes  trudging  home  at 
nightfall  along  the  pathwa}-  that  skirts  the  jungle. 
Tales  of  horror  crowd  into  their  memory  as  they  look  at 
the  unkempt  and  restless  creatures,  condemned  to-day 
to  civilization  and  monoton}',  but  once,  perhaps,  actors 
themselves  in  the  very  scenes  that  make  the  narratives 
of  wolf  adventure  so  appalling.  In  a  bare  cage,  with 
iron  bars  before  it,  it  is  difficult  to  realize  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  thing  before  you. 

There  is  nothing  in  its  appearance,  except  that  sinister 
proximity  of  its  eyes,  to  betoken  a  creature  so  eminently 
dangerous  when  wild,  no  significance  of  cruel  fury  in 
its  voice,  no  profession  of  murderous  strength  in  its 
limbs.  It  looks  like  a  shabby  dog,  and  howls  like  an 
unhappy  one.  There  is  no  fierce  tiger-eloquence  of  e}-e, 
no  ravening  h3'ena-clamor  in  its  voice,  no  lion-majesty 
of  form.  It  seems  a  poor  thing  for  an}'  one,  even  a 
child,  to  be  afraid  of,  for  it  appears  half-fed  and  weak- 


240  Unnatural  History. 

limbed.  As  it  trots  backwards  and  forwards  it  is  hard 
to  believe  that  these  pattering  feet  are  really  the  same 
as  those  that  can  swing  along  the  countryside  in  an  un- 
tiring gallop,  defy  the  horse  and  laugh  the  greyhound  to 
scorn  ;  or  that  the  -thin  neck,  craning  out  of  the  kennel 
there,  could  ever  bear  a  dead  child's  weight.  Yet  this  is- 
indeed  the  very  creature  that  has  made  countries  ring 
with  its  dreadful  deeds  of  blood,  that  has  held  mountain 
passes  and  lonesome  wood-ways  against  all  comers,  has 
desolated  villages  and  aroused  the  resentment  of  kings. 
There  must,  then,  be  something  more,  after  all.  in  the 
thin-bodied  thing  than  the  eye  catches  at  first  sight, 
or  why  should  England  have  had  two  monarchs  that 
waged  imperial  war  against  it,  or  have  had  a  month  named 
after  it,  —  the  modern  January,  the  old  Wolf-monath,  so 
called  because  the  depredations  of  the  beast  were  then  es- 
pecially terrible  ;  or  why  should  the  wolf  have  been  in- 
cluded in  English  litanies  as  one  of  the  chief  perils  of  life  ? 
"  From  caterans  and  all  other  kinds  of  robbers ;  from 
wolveaand  all  other  kinds  of  evil  beasts,  deliver  us,  O 
Lord ! " 

In  other  countries  it  has  been  at  times  a  veritable 
scourge,  and  wherever  this  has  happened  local  legend 
and  folk-lore  have  invested -the  animal  with  strange,  gaunt 
terrors.  In  the  hungry  North^  where  Arctic  snows  for- 
bid the  multiplication  of  small  animal  life,  and  the  wolf 
would  often  be  starved  but  for  man  and  his  domestic 
beasts,  the  wolf  is  the  popular  sjTnbol  of  all  that  is 
tragic  or  to  be  dreaded,  and  signifies,  in  their  supersti- 
tion, the  supreme  superlative  of  ruin  ;  for  they  say  that 
when  the  last  tremendous  Night  overshadows  the  earth, 
and  our  planet  sinks  out  of  the  darkened  firmament  into 
eternal  gloom,  the  Fenris-wolf  and  the  Skoll-wolf  will 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  241 

appear  and  devour  the  gods  and  the  firmament !  Fur- 
ther to  the  south,  we  find  Scandinavian  tradition  replete 
with  weird  wolf-lore ;  and  it  is  the  same  in  Finland  and 
all  over  Russia,  German}',  and  France,  where  the  hor- 
rible fiction  of  the  loup-garou  —  partly  ghoul  and  parti}7 
wolf-man  —  still  holds  its  own.  Indeed,  so  terribly 
associated  are  the  crimes  of  wolves  and  the  sufferings 
of  men  that  all  over  Europe,  from  the  snows  of  Lapland 
to  sunny  Spain,  the  gruesome  legend  is  a  household 
story,  and  the  wehr-wolf  and  wolf-children  carry  on 
the  old  Greek  and  Latin  superstitions  of  the  lycan- 
thropes. 

It  is,  however,  in  the  East,  in  India,  that  the  wolf  at- 
tains the  complete  measure  of  its  obliquities ;  for  just 
as  the  korait  snake  kills  a  greater  number  of  human 
beings  than  the  far  more  deadly  cobra,  so  the  wolf 
takes  infinitely  more  lives  than  the  tiger.  Thousands 
of  adults  fall  victims  annually  to  this  animal's  daring 
and  ferocity,  and  the  destruction  of  child-life  by  it  is 
prodigious.  It  is  not  only  in  the  remoter  districts, 
where  jungles  and  rocky  wildernesses  are  found,  that 
the  wolves  thus  prey  upon  man,  but  in  the  very  midst 
of  bus}-  towns. 

They  will  creep,  so  the  natives  say,  into  houses,  and 
lick  the  babies  from  the  sleeping  mothers'  arms.  The 
soft  warm  touch  of  the  wild  beast's  tongue  melts  the 
guardian  fingers  open.  One  by  one  they  loosen  their 
hold,  and,  as  the  wrists  sink  apart,  the  baby  slides  grad- 
ually out  of  the  protecting  arms  against  the  soft  coat  of 
the  wolf.  It  does  not  wake,  and  then  the  brute  bends 
down  its  head  to  find  the  child's  throat.  There  is  a 
sudden  snap  of  closing  teeth,  a  little  strangling  cry,  and 
the  mother  starts  to  her  feet  to  hear  the  rustle  of  the 

16 


242  Unnatural  History. 

grass  screen  before  the  door  as  it  is  pushed  ajar,  and  to 
feel  her  own  feet  slip  in  the  blood  at  her  side. 

There  are  those  who  would  gloss  over  the  wolfs  crimes 
by  declaring  it  to  be  the  brother  of  the  dog,  and  it  may 
be  true  enough  that  wolves  learn  to  bark  when  fostered 
by  canine  mothers,  that  the  dogs  of  the  Arctic  regions 
are  in  realit}7  only  wolves,  and  that  till  the  white  man 
came  the  Red  Indian  had  no  quadruped  companion  but 
the  wolf.  But,  after  all,  such  facts  only  amount  to  this 
—  that  though  wolves  are  never  fit  to  be  called  dogs, 
there  are  some  undeveloped  specimens  of  dogs  only  fit 
to  be  called  wolves. 

I  am  very  fond  of  dogs,  and  have  indeed,  in  India 
had  as  mam'  as  seven  upon  my  establishment  at  one  time. 
Some  I  knew  intimately,  others  were  mere  acquaintances  ; 
but  speaking  dispassionatel}*  of  them,  and  taking  one  with 
another,  I  should  hesitate  to  say  that  they  were  superior 
to  ordinary  men  and  women.  It  is,  I  know,  the  fashion 
to  cite  the  dog  as  a  better  species  of  human  being  and  to 
depreciate  men  as  if  they  were  dogs  gone  wrong.  I  am 
not  at  all  sure  that  this  is  just  to  ourselves,  for  speaking 
of  the  dogs  I  have  met  —  the  same  dogs  in  fact  that  we 
have  all  met  —  I  must  say  that,  on  the  whole,  I  look  upon 
the  dog  as  only  a  kind  of  beast  after  all.  At  any  rate  I  am 
prepared  to  produce  from  amongst  my  acquaintances 
as  many  sensible  men  as  sensible  dogs,  and  if  necessary 
a  large  number  of  human  beings  who  if  taken  by  accident 
or  design  out  of  the  road  will  set  themselves  right  again, 
who  if  separated  for  years  from  friends  will  readily  recog- 
nize them  and  welcome  them,  who  on  meeting  those  who 
have  done  them  previous  injuries  will  show  at  once  by 
their  demeanor  that  the}'  remember  the  old  grudge,  who 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  243 

will  detect  false  notes  in  a  player's  performance,  catch 
thieves,  carry  baskets  to  the  butchers,  defend  their  mas- 
ters, and  never  worry  sheep.  On  the  other  hand  I  will 
produce  in  equal  number  dogs  who  get  themselves  lost 
regularly  and  for  good,  until  a  reward  is  offered,  who 
never  recognize  old  acquaintances,  but  will  fawn  upon 
those  who  have  injured  them,  who  will  sleep  complacent- 
ly through  the  performances  of  organ-grinders  and  never 
wake  up  when  thieves  are  on  the  premises  ;  who  cannot 
be  trusted  with  meat,  and  who  will  run  away  from  their 
masters  if  danger  threatens.  Being  quite  certain  of  this, 
I  think  I  am  justified  in  maintaining  that  clogs  are  no 
better  than  men,  and  indeed  I  should  not  quarrel  with 
him  if  any  one  were  to  say  that  but  for  man  the  dog 
would  have  been  much  worse  than  he  is  —  probably, 
onl}'  a  wolf  still. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  most  of  the  dogs  of  my  acquaint- 
ance have  been  positively  stupid.  One  that  I  remember 
well  was,  however,  considered  by  my  friends  of  remark- 
able intelligence;  but  this  story  often  told  of  him,  to 
illustrate  his  intelligence,  did  not  give  me  when  I  heard 
it,  any  high  opinion  of  his  intellect.  But  I  may  be 
wrong.  He  was  accustomed,  it  appears,  to  go  with  the 
family  to  church.  But  one  day  the  old  church  roof 
began  to  leak,  so  workmen  were  set  at  the  job  and  the 
building  was  closed.  But  when  Sunday  came  this  in- 
telligent dog  trotted  off  as  he  was  wont  to  do,  to  the 
church,  and,  composing  himself  in  the  porch  as  usual, 
remained  there  the  customary  time  and  trotted  com- 
placently home  again.  Now  where  does  the  intelli- 
gence come  in,  in  this  anecdote? 

In  a  similar  way  stories  are  told  in  illustration  of  other 
feelings  and  passions,  but  most  of  them,  so  it  seems  to 


244  Unnatural  History. 

me,  cut  both  ways.  There  are,  indeed,  many  human 
feelings  which  the  dog  evinces  in  a  marked  waj7,  and 
often  upon  very  little  provocation.  The  clog,  for 
instance,  expresses  anger  precisely  as  we  do,  and,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  human  precept,  "  When  the  boy  hits 
you,  kick  the  post,"  will  bite  his  friend  to  show  his  dis- 
pleasure at  a  stranger.  I  had  a  little  bull-terrier  which 
went  frantic  if  a  pedlar  or  beggar  came  to  the  door,  and, 
being  restrained  from  flying  at  the  innocent  itinerant, 
would  rush  out  as  soon  as  released  into  the  shrubbery 
and  go  for  the  gardener.  The  gardener  knew  the  dog's 
ways,  for  he  had  had  a  sharp  nip  vicariously  before,  and 
when  he  saw  Nellie  on  her  way  towards  him,  used  to 
charge  her  with  a  lawn  mower.  Now  at  other  times 
the  gardener  and  Nellie  were  inseparable  friends,  and, 
weather  permitting,  the  gardener's  coat  and  waistcoat 
were  Nellie's  favorite  bed.  In  human  nature  it  is  much 
the  same,  when  the  husband,  because  the  news  in  the 
paper  is  disagreeable,  grumbles  at  his  wife's  cap. 

Hatred  also  the  dog  feels  keenly, — in  the  matter  of 
cats  notably.  I  have  seen  one  of  the  exceptionally  in- 
telligent dogs  referred  to  above,  stop  and  jump  under  a 
tree  for  an  hour,  and  go  back  every  day  for  a  month 
afterwards  to  jump  about  ridiculously  under  the  same 
tree,  all  because  a  cat  which  he  had  once  been  after, 
and  wanted  to  catch,  had  got  up  that  tree  out  of  his 
way.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  whatever,  from 
that  dog's  behavior,  that  he  hated  the  cat. 

Jealousy  again  is  a  common  trait,  and  in  Thorax's 
book  there  is  an  instance  given  of  a  dog  that  was  so 
jealous  of  another  pet  that  when  the  latter  died,  and  had 
been  stuffed,  he  always  snarled  if  attention  was  drawn 
to  the  glass  case  from  which  his  rival  gazed  with  glassy 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Rats.  245 

eye  upon  the  scene.  The  envy  of  the  dog  has  given 
rise  to  the  well-known  fable  of  the  dog  in  the  manger  ; 
and  the  story  told  in  ' '  False  Beasts  and  True  "  (in  il- 
lustration of  canine  sagacity)  exemplifies  this  trait  in  a 
striking  way.  Leo  was  a  large  and  lawless  dog,  be- 
longing to  an  establishment  wher.e  lived  also  a  mild 
Maltese  terrier.  The  latter,  however,  fed  daintily,  and 
was  clad  in  fine  linen,  whereas  Leo  got  as  many  rough 
words  as  bones,  and  was  not  allowed  in  the  pretty 
rooms  of  which  the  terrier  was  a  favored  inmate.  From 
the  reports  furnished  of  the  judicial  inquiry  which  fol- 
lowed the  crime,  it  seems  that  the  lesser  (very  much 
lesser)  clog  had  been  missed  for  several  days,  and  his 
absence  bewailed,  while  something  in  the  demeanor  of 
the  big  dog  suggested  to  all  beholders  that  some  terrible 
tragedy  had  occurred  and  that  Leo  was  darkly  privy 
thereto.  A  length  a  servant  going  to  the  coal-hole 
heard  a  feeble  moaning  proceeding  from  the  farthest 
corner,  and  on  investigating  with  a  candle,  the  Maltese 
terrier  was  found  buried  under  lumps  of  coal.  The 
supposition  was  that  Leo  had  carried  his  diminutive 
rival  to  the  coal-hole,  and  there  scratched  down  an 
avalanche  of  coals  upon  him  ;  and  the  manners  of  the 
two  dogs  when  confronted  bore  striking  evidence  to  the 
truth  of  the  theoiy.  Of  Leo's  envy  there  can  hardly 
therefore  be  a  suspicion. 

Gluttony  is  common  to  all  dogs,  but  their  general 
aversion  to  drunkenness  is  supposed,  by  their  partial 
eulogists,  to  be  demonstrated  by  the  fact  attested  by  the 
Rev.  F.  Jackson  of  a  dog  who,  having  been  once  made 
so  drunk  with  malt  liquor  that  he  could  not  get  upstairs 
without  help,  always  growled  and  snarled  at  the  sight  of 
a  pewter  pot !  To  establish  in  a  feeble  way  this  indi- 


246  Unnatural  History. 

viclual's  dislike  of  malt  liquor,  the  eulogist,  it  seems 
to  me,  has  trifled  away  the  clog's  intelligence  altogether. 
Nor,  as  illustrating  sagacity,  is  the  following  anecdote 
so  very  forcible  at  it  might  be.  Begum  was  a  snjflll  red 
cocker  who,  with  a  very  strange  perception  of  her  own 
importance,  engaged  as  her  attendant  a  mild  Pomer- 
anian of  her  own  sex,  who  having  only  three  available 
legs,  displayed  the  gentler  manners  of  a  confirmed 
invah'd.  Begum,  jjeveral  times  in  her  long  and  respected 
career,  became  the  joyful  mother  of  puppies,  and  on  all 
these  interesting  occasions  her  friend  Rip  (or  Mrs. 
Gamp,  as  she  came  to  be  called)  presided  over  her 
nursery,  kept  beside  the  mother  in  her  temporary 
seclusion,  exhibited  the  little  strangers  to  visitors  with 
all  the  mother's  pride  during  her  absences,  and  in  short, 
behaved  herself  like  a  devoted  friend.  "  Strange  to 
say,"  says  the  author,  "  when  the  poor  nurse  herself 
was  d}-ing,  and  Begum  was  brought  to  her  bedside  to 
cheer  her,  the  sagacious  cocker  snuffed  her  friend,  and 
then  leaping  gaily  over  her  postrate,  gasping  form,  left 
the  stable  for  a  frolic,  and  never  looked  in  again  on 
her  faithful  attendant."  This  narrative,  however,  hardly 
illustrates  the  remarkable  gratitude  which  may  be  almost 
said  to  be  a  dog's  leading  principle. 

Regret  and  grief  dogs  no  doubt  share  also  with  men, 
for  my  own  terrier  when  he  stands  with  sadly  oscillating 
tail  and  his  head  stuck  through  the  area  railings,  whimp- 
ering for  ' '  the  touch  of  a  vanished  cat "  and  ' '  the 
sound  of  a  puss  that  is  still,"  bears  ample  testimon}'  to 
the  former  ;  nor  when,  out  ferreting,  the  rabbit  has  mys- 
teriously disappeared  into  an  impassable  earth,  is  there 
any  room  for  hesitation  as  to  Tim's  grief.  His  regret 
at  the  rabbit's  evasive  habits  is  unmistakable.  Mrs. 


Bears,  Wolves,  'Dogs,  Eats.  247 

Sumner  Gibson,  to  illustrate  joy,  tells  us  of  her  pet, 
which  on  seeing  her  unexpectedly  return  after  a  long 
absence  was  violently  sick.  I  remember  when  at  school 
seeing  a  violent  phj'sical  shock,  accompanied  by  the 
same  symptoms,  affect  a  boy  when  suddenlj-  approached 
by  a  master  while  in  the  act  of  eating  gooseberries  in 
class.  But  none  of  us  attributed  the  result  to  an  excess 
of  delight. 

Laziness  is  a  trait  well  exemplified  in  dogs.  Thus 
Cole's  dog  of  ancient  fame  was  so  lazy  that  he  al- 
ways leaned  his  head  against  a  wall  to  bark.  So  did 
Ludlam's. 

Courage  is  not  more  common  among  dogs  than  among 
men.  I  had  once  three  dogs  who  accompanied  me  on  a 
certain  occasion  to  a  museum.  The  hall  at  the  entrance 
was  devoted  to  the  larger  mammalia,  and  the  dogs  on 
passing  the  folding  door  found  themselves  suddenly 
confronted  b}*  the  whole  order  of  the  carnivora,  all 
drawn  up  according  to  their  families  and  genera,  ready 
to  fall  upon  and  devour  them.  With  a  howl  of  the  most 
dismal  horror,  all  three  flung  themselves  against  the 
door,  and  if  I  had  not  rushed  to  open  it,  would  certainly 
have  died  or  gone  mad  then  a'nd  there  from  sheer  terror. 
As  it  was  they  flew  through  the  open  door  with  every 
individual  hair  on  their  bodies  standing  out  like  a  wire, 
and  arrived  at  home,  some  three  miles  off,  in  such  a 
state  of  alarm  that  my  servants  were  seriously  alarmed 
for  my  safety.  One  of  the  three  always  slept  in  my 
room  at  night,  but  on  the  night  after  the  fright  howled 
so  lamentably,  and  had  such  bad  dreams,  that  I  had  to 
expel  him.  Miss  Cobbe,  in  her  delightful  book,  illus- 
trates this  whimsical  cowardice  by  a  bull  terrier,  who, 
ready  apparently  to  fight  anything,  went  into  paroxysms 


248  Unnatural  History. 

of  hysterical  screaming  if  an  Indian-rubber  cushion  was 
filled  or  emptied  with  air  in  her  presence  ;  and  the  garden- 
hose  filled  her  with  such  terror  that  on  the  day  when  it 
was  in  use,  Trip  was  never  to  be  found  on  the  premises, 
nor  would  any  coaxing  or  commands  persuade  her  to  go 
into  the  room  where  the  tube  was  kept  all  the  rest  of 
the  week. 

Pride  affects  the  dog  mind,  for  who  has  not  heard 
of  Dawson's  dog  that  was  too  proud  to  take  the  wall 
of  a  dung-cart,  and  so  got  flattened  under  the  wheels? 
Vanity  was  admirably  displayed  by  an  old  setter,  who 
often  caused  us  great  inconvenience  by  insisting  on  fol- 
lowing members  of  the  family  whenever  they  went  out, 
usually  most  inopportunely.  But  one  da}"  the  children, 
playing  with  it,  tied  a  bow  of  ribbon  on  to  the  tip  of  its 
tail,  and  on  everybody  laughing  at  the  dog's  appear- 
ance, the  animal  retired  under  the  sofa  and  sulked  for 
an  hour.  Next  day,  therefore,  when  Nelson  showed 
every  symptom  of  being  irrepressibhy  intent  on  accom- 
panying the  family  to  a  croquet  party  to  which  he  had 
not  been  invited,  it  occurred  to  one  of  the  part}-  to 
try  the  effect  of  a  bow.  The  ribbon  was  accordingly 
brought,  and  Nelson  being  held  quiet  by  two  of  the 
girls,  the  third  decorated  his  tail.  No  sooner  was  he 
released,  and  discovered  the  adornment,  than  the  self- 
conscious  dog  rushed  into  the  house  and  hid  under  the 
sofa !  An  hour  after  the  party  were  gone,  he  came  out 
as  far  as  the  doorstep,  and  when  the  family  returned 
there  was  Nelson  sitting  on  his  haunches  with  the  most 
comic  air  of  having  something  mortifying  to  conceal,  and 
refraining  from  even  wagging  his  tail,  lest  the  hateful 
bow  should  be  seen.  Chivalry,  magnanimit}-,  treachery, 
meanness,  a  sense  of  propriety  or  utter  absence  of 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  249 

shame,  humor,  etc.,  maj*  all  in  turn  be  similarly  proved 
to  be  shared  \>y  the  dog  world  ;  but  it  is  a  singular  fact 
that  so  many  of  the  anecdotes  put  forward  to  illustrate 
the  virtues  of  this  animal  should,  if  read  with  a  little 
irreverence  towards  the  dogs,  lend  themselves  to  con- 
flicting if  not  opposite  conclusions. 

Indeed,  I  look  upon  the  woolly  little  white  dog  that 
is  so  common  as  a  pet  in  England  as  absolutely  criminal. 
You  can  see  what  a  timid  creature  it  is  by  the  way  it 
jumps  when  any  cabman  shouts,  and  yet  its  foolishness 
and  greediness  have  got  as  many  men  into  jail  as  a 
street  riot  would  have  done.  You  have  only  to  look  at 
it  to  see  what  an  easy  dog  it  is  to  steal.  In  fact,  it  was 
made  to  be 'stolen,  and  it  faithfully  fulfils  its  destiny. 
One  man  —  the  father  of  a  }*ouug  family,  too  —  has 
been  in  prison  twice  for  stealing  that  same  dog.  It  is 
true  that,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  sold  it  at  a  splendid 
profit  on  five  other  occasions,  and  has  pocketed  a  hand- 
some reward  for  "  finding"  it  several  times  besides,  but 
he  neA-ertheless  owes  several  weeks'  incarceration  to  that 
same  little  dog's  infamously  criminal  habit  of  looking  so 
stealable.  He  can  no  more  keep  his  hands  off  the  ani- 
mal than  needles  can  help  going  to  the  nearest  load- 
stone. It  is  of  no  use  his  trying  to  look  the  other  way, 
or  repeating  the  Lord's  Pra}'er,  or  thrusting  his  hands 
right  down  to  the  bottom  of  his  breeches'  pockets,  for 
as  surely  as  .ever  that  little  dog  comes  b}',  Jeriy  will 
have  to  steal  it.  It  is  chiefly  the  dog's  fault.  It  never 
follows  its  master  or  mistress  for  the  time  being  like  a 
steady  dog  of  business,  but  trots  flickeringly  about  the 
pavement,  as  if  it  was  going  nowhere  in  particular  with 
nobody.  It  makes  excursions  up  alleys  on  its  own  ac- 
count, and  comes  running  back  in  such  a  hurry  that  it 


250  Unnatural  History. 

forgets  whether  it  ought  to  turn  to  the  right  or  the  left ; 
or  it  goes  half  across  a  road  and  then  "takes  fright  at  a 
cab,  and  runs  speeding  down  the  highway  in  front  of  it 
under  the  impression  that  the  vehicle  is  in  pursuit.  Or 
it  loiters  at  a  corner  to  talk  canine  commonplaces  to  a 
strange  dog,  and  then,  like  an  idle  errand  boy,  accom- 
panies its  new  acquaintance  a  short  wa}*  round  several 
corners.  Or  it  mixes  itself  up  with  an  old  gentleman's 
legs,  and  gets  eventually  trodden  upon,  and  precipitately 
makes  off  squeaking  down  the  middle  of  a  crowded 
thoroughfare  into  which  its  owner  cannot  follow  it.  Of 
all  these  weaknesses  Jerry  and  his  comrades  are  per- 
fectly well  aware ;  and  if  3-011  will  only  follow  the  clog 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  }TOU  will  see  the  little  wretch 
get  "  lost,"  as  it  calls  itself — or  as  Jerry  calls  it,  when 
the  policeman  inquires  about  the  dog.  There  are  some 
people  who  go  through  life  leaving  watches  on  dressing- 
tables  and  money  on  mantelpieces,  and  then  prosecute 
the  servants  who  steal  them ;  others  who  lend  strangers 
sovereigns  in  order  to  show  their  confidence  in  them, 
and  then  call  in  the  police  to  get  the  stranger  punished  ; 
others  who  post  money  in  open  envelopes,  and  are  bit- 
terry  indignant  with  the  authorities  because  it  is  never 
received  by  the  addressee  ;  many  again  who  walk  about- 
with  their  purses  in  pockets  placed  where  moralit}- 
never  meant  pockets  to  be  ;  who,  in  fact,  are  perpetually 
putting  temptation  into  the  way  of  their  weak  brethren, 
and  then  putting  their  weak  brethren  in  gaol.  And  the 
foolish  little  white  dog  that  is  always  getting  itself  stolen 
is  exactly  their  representative  in  the  canine  society 
which,  we  are  assured,  reflects  our  own. 

For  nryself,  I  think  the  dignified  position  which  the 
dog  fills  in  human  society  can  be  far  more  worthily 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Rats.  251 

treated,  than  by  anecdotes  of  his  various  virtues  and 
vices,  for  after  all  he  is  one  of  man's  chiefest  triumphs, 
and  one  of  his  noblest  servants.  "In  the  beginning 
Allah  created  Man,  and  seeing  what  a  helpless  creature 
he  was  He  gave  him  the  Dog.  And  He  charged  the 
Dog  that  he  should  be  the  eyes  and  the  ears,  the  under- 
standing and  the  legs  of  the  Man." 

The  writer,  Toussenel,  then  goes  on  to  show  how  the 
dog  was  fitted  for  his  important  duties  by  being  inspired 
with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  privileges  of  friend- 
ship and  loyal  devotion,  and  a  corresponding  disregard 
of  the  time-wasting  joys  of  family  and  fireside  pleasures, 
thinking,  no  doubt,  with  Bacon,  that  those  without 
families  —  the  discipline  of  humanity  —  make  alwa}-s 
the  best  public  servants.  "  He  that  hath  wife  and  chil- 
dren hath  given  hostages  to  fortune ;  for  they  are 
impediments  to  great  enterprises,  either  of  virtue  or 
mischief."  And  again,  "  Charity  will  hardly  water  the 
ground  where  it  must  first  fill  a  pool."  The  dog,  there- 
fore, was  relieved  of  paternal  affections  in  order  that  he 
might  be  able  to  give  an  undivided  mind  to  the  high 
task  set  before  him,  and  thus  afford  primitive  man,  in 
the  flock-tending  days,  the  leisure  necessary  for  dis- 
covering the  arts  and  evolving  the  sciences. 

If  Tubal  Cain,  for  instance,  had  had  to  run  after  his 
own  herds  he  could  never  have  got  on  with  his  pan- 
pipes ;  so  the  dog  attended  to  the  sheep  and  the  goats, 
the  kine  and  the  camels,  while  his  master  sat  in  the 
shade  by  the  river,  testing  the  properties  of  reeds. 
Music  was  the  result,  thanks  to  the  dog.  In  the  same 
way,  perhaps,  we  might  trace  all  other  great  discoveries 
to  the  same  canine  source  ;  and,  realby,  seeing  even  now- 
adays, when  man  has  become  such  a  self-helping  creat- 


252  Unnatural  History. 

ure,  how  many  dogs  keep  men  and  how  many  of  them 
support  old  ladies,  the  philosopher  would  seem  to  have 
some  basis  for  his  fanciful  theory  that,  but  for  dogsr  men 
would  still  have  been  shepherds,  and  human  society  still 
in  its  patriarchal  stage.  The  Red  Indians  keep  no 
dogs  ;  and  what  is  the  result  ?  All  their  time  is  given 
up  to  dog's  work,  and  they  lead  a  dog's  life  doing  it  — 
chasing  wild  things  about  and  holloaing  after  them. 
Other  peoples,  however,  who  started  with  them  in  the 
race  of  nations,  and  who  utilized  the  dog,  are  now  en- 
joying all  the  comforts  of  nineteenth-century  civilization, 
hunting  only  for  amusement  and  shepherding  only  on 
valentines. 

Writers  on  the  dog  claim  for  it  the  noblest  attributes 
of  humanity,  and  share  with  it  our  meanest  failings ; 
and,  although  the  vast  majoritj-  of  instances  of  canine 
mind  may  be  classified  under  the  phenomena  of  self- 
interest  and  imitation,  it  is  humiliating  to  feel  that,  if 
the  dogs  were  to  give  their  opinions  of  men,  the  same 
classification  would  hold  good,  and  that  for  each  of 
their  own  weaknesses  the}'  could  cite  a  parallel  among 
men. 

At  present,  as  the  matter  stands,  man  seems  in  some 
danger  of  being  reckoned  only  the  second  best  of 
animals. 

In  a  dispassionate  view  of  the  subject,  however,  the 
foibles  of  the  dog  should  not  be,  as  they  so  often  are, 
overlooked. 

Indeed,  it  might  be  well  if  some  one  would  compile  a 
counterblast  of  remarkable  instances  of  the  intelligence 
and  docility  of  man,  the  human  Trustys  and  good  Dog 
Trays  that  abound  in  the  world ;  the  men  who  have 
been  known  to  lose  their  friends  in  the  streets  and  to 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  253 

find  them  again  ;  who  have  been  carried  to  immense  dis- 
tances by  wrong  trains,  and  turned  up  at  home  after  all ; 
who  recognize  acquaintances  with  every  demonstration 
of  delight  after  a  long  separation ;  who  cany  baskets 
from  the  bakers,  and  do  not  eat  the  contents  by  the 
way  ;  who  worry  cats  ;  who  rescue  men  from  drowning 
and  from  other  forms  of  death ;  who  howl  when  they 
hear  street  organs ;  who  know  a  thief  when  he  comes 
creeping  up  the  back  stairs  at  midnight,  and  hold  him 
until  help  arrives  ;  who  fetch,  and  carry,  and  beg  ;  who, 
in  fact,  do  everything  that  a  dog  can  do,  and  have  died 
for  all  the  world  like  Christians. 

Such  instances  of  intelligence  in  men,  and  even 
women,  abound,  and  are  amply  authenticated  by  eye- 
witnesses. 

Nor  are  any  of  the  passions  which  move  dogs  un- 
known to  human  kind,  for  anecdotes  illustrative  of  anger, 
fear,  envy,  courage,  and  so  forth,  are  plentifully  scat- 
tered up  and  down  the  pages  of  history  and  biograph}-. 
In  short,  looking  at  the  matter  from  both  sides,  I  really 
think  mj-self  that  there  is  no  reason  for  supposing  that 
man  is  in  any  way  inferior  to  the  dog. 

In  science  the  dogs  go  after  the  rats.  So  they  do  in 
nature.  But  in  this  book  I  was  obliged  to  put  the  rats 
behind  the  dogs,  as  dogs  grow  so  naturally  out  of 
wolves  that  I  had  it  not  in  my  heart  to  spoil  the  con- 
nection merely  for  the  sake  of  being  scientific.  But  the 
connection  between  rats  and  dogs,  whichever  way  they 
come  in  a  book,  is  none  the  less  very  intimate  indeed, 
more  so  sometimes  than  the  rats  like. 

But  rats  have  a  large  history  of  their  own,  outside  rat- 
pits.  In  Egypt  and  Chaldsea  they  were  the  sj-mbol  of 
utter  destruction,  while  in  India  they  are  to-day  the  em- 


254  Unnatural  History. 

:blem  of  prosperous  wisdom.  The  Romans  took  augury 
from  rats,  —  happy  indeed  the  man  who  saw  a  white  one  ; 
and  Apollo,  the  most  artistic  of  the  Greek  divinities, 
did  not  scorn  the  title  of  the  rat-killer.  In  this  very 
England  of  ours,  the  hardy  Norseman  rats  bore  their 
share  in  the  Conquest  nobly,  and  on  the  continent  they 
have  ruined  a  city  and  a  river.  Rats,  they  say,  have 
scuttled  ships,  and  it  is  certain  they  once  ate  up  a 
bishop. 

Not  long  ago,  rat-catching  engrossed  much  of  the  at- 
tention of  the  Government  of  India.  The  emergency 
was  as  serious  as  it  was  preposterous,  for  among  the 
great  vermin  plagues  that  have  afflicted  the  world  the 
rat-invasion  that  devastated  the  Deccan  must  take  high 
rank.  Indeed,  since  the  croaking  nuisance  took  posses- 
sion of  the  halls  of  Pharaoh,  there  have  been  very  few 
visitations  that  have  so  directly  insulted  the  majesty  of 
man's  high  birth,  and  so  absurdly  perplexed  him. 

Up  and  down  the  world  at  different  times  there  have 
been  many  plagues  —  plagues  of  locusts  and  cock- 
chafers, of  mice  and  caterpillars,  plagues  that  have 
ravaged  the  vineyards  and  the  corn-fields,  the  pine- 
forests  and  the  orchards,  plagues  that  have  afflicted  the 
farmer  and  the  merchant,  the  prince  and  the  peasant, 
the  tradesman  and  the  manufacturer,  plagues  of  beasts 
and  birds  and  insects.  Armies  have  actually  marched 
against  little  things,  with  wings,  and  senates  have 
gravely  sat  in  council  over  creeping  creatures.  The 
British  force  at  Waterloo  was  not  so  numerous  as  that 
which  the  Moor  sent  against  the  advancing  locusts  ;  nor 
did  the  fathers  of  the  city,  fluttered  by  the  news  of  Lars 
Porsena's  approach,  meet  in  more  serious  concern  than 
did  the  French  Assembly  to  concert  measures,  the  State 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Rats.  255 

being  in  clanger,  to  resist  the  sauterelle  vorace.  But 
in  all  these,  quite  apart  from  the  gravity  of  the  evil, 
there  was  a  matter-of-fact  sobriety  about  the  circum- 
stances of  the  impending  danger,  which  separates  them 
from  the  rodent  visitation  of  the  Deccan.  Locusts  are  the 
avowed  enemies  of  mankind,  and  their  destruction  has 
always  been  cheerfully  assented  to  as  a  pleasing  act  of 
justice.  No  one  when  the  vastatriz  was  at  work  among 
the  vines  held  back  the  arm  of  retributive  chemistry,  nor 
when  the  cynips  was  vandalizing  among  our  turnips  was 
a  kindly  word  spoken  for  the  tiny  foe.  In  India,  how- 
ever, everything,  whether  with  fur  or  feathers,  whether 
winged  or  wingless,  finds  a  friend.  Beautiful  legends, 
orchid-like,  have  overgrown  the  old  country,  and  so  not 
only  everything  that  moves,  but  every  leaf  that  stirs, 
has  a  poem  or  a  quaint  conceit  attached  to  it. 

We  in  the  West  have  flung  our  prejudices  at  even 
inoffensive  creatures.  Thus,  the  cormorant  is  abused  by 
even-  poet^who  has  mentioned  the  bird.  The  owl  has 
no  more  friends  than  the  toad  ;  and  the  buzzard  and  the 
raven  are  as  unpopular,  and  as  heartily  maligned  by  our 
imaginative  writers,  and  in  our  proverbs  and  ballads,  as 
the  badger  and  the  newt.  Many  others  meet  only  with 
acidulated  compliments,  and  some  —  like  the  glutton 
among  beasts,  the  crow  among  birds  —  are  ungenerously 
denied  the  possession  of  the  most  ordinary  beast  and 
fowl  virtues.  It  is  true  that,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
flatter  unworthily  the  creatures  of  our  own  affection, 
embarrassing  the  pelican  with  our  undeserved  regard, 
and  in  the  robin  canonizing  what  in  the  sparrow  we 
anathematize.  *  But  misplaced  esteem  does  not  compen- 
sate for  wanton  depreciation ;  nor  does  it  affect  our 
action  when  our  prejudices  are  called  into  lively  expres- 


256  Unnatural  History. 

sion.  Spiders  fare  ill  with  most  of  us,  and  no  earwig  of 
discernment  comes  for  a  holida}7  among  us. 

In  India,  however,  everything  alike  is  welcome  at  the 
fountain  of  superstitious  tenderness,  and  where  Euro- 
pean influences  have  not  penetrated,  all  creation  seems 
to  live  in  amity.  The  teaching  of  the  compassionate 
Buddha,  "  the  speechless  world's  interpreter,"  has  else- 
where won  for  living  things  the  same  forbearance  at  the 
hands  of  other  millions,  and  Asia  thus  stands  apart 
from  Europe  as  the  refuge  and  asj'lum  of  the  smaller 
worlds  of  creatures,  harmful  and  harmless  alike. 

This  pitifulness  works  often  to  strange  results.  A 
man-eating  tiger  establishes  his  shambles  near  a  village, 
but  the  villagers,  knowing  him  to  be  an  old  and  esteemed 
acquaintance,  lately  deceased,  steal  away  from  their 
hamlet  and  deprecate  any  violent  dislodgment  of  the 
human  soul  from  its  present  tiger  bocty.  Monke^-s  rob 
the  shops  in  the  bazaar,  but  who  could  think  of  reprisals 
against  such  holy  thieves?  Snakes  take  human  life, 
but  pay  none  in  penalty.  Elephants  and  cuckoos,  bulls 
and  tortoises,  quadruped  and  bird,  fish  and  reptile,  all 
come  in  for  their  special  honors  and  special  privileges, 
and,  when  danger  threatens,  for  special  immunit}'. 

The  rats  in  the  Deccan  in  the  same  way  enjoyed  the 
full  benefit  of  this  delightful  catholicity  of  benevolence, 
not  from  any  virtues  inherent  in  that  forward  rodent,  or 
any  tradition  of  good  done  to  man  in  a  former  state, 
but  simply  from  the  Hindoo's  tolerance  of  small  life, 
and  the  contemporary  growth  of  superstition. 

The  famines  that  laid  waste  some  of  the  fairest  prov- 
inces of  India  had  stolen  from  every  hearth  one  or  more 
of  the  family  circle,  and  the  peasant  mind,  loyal  to  its 
teachings,  refused  to  believe  that  the  loved  ones  had 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  257 

been  lost  forever.  Cruel  drought  bound  the  ground  as 
with  iron,  and  so  the  seed  sown  never  gave  its  increase. 
Starvation  crept  round  the  hamlet,  and  one  by  one  the 
weakest  died. 

Yet  the  wheels  of  time  rolled  on,  and  another  har- 
vest-time came  round.  The  seasons  were  kindly,  rain 
was  abundant,  and  the  ground  returned  to  the  sower's 
hand  its  hundred-fold.  And  back  to  the  earth,  glad  with 
full  harvests,  crept  the  poor  defunct.  What  more  natural  ? 

Not,  of  course,  in  the  likeness  of  their  old  eelves,  for 
it  is  not  given  to  man  to  live  twice  as  man,  nor  yet  in 
nobler  form,  for  what  had  the  pitiful  starved  dead  given 
in  alms  to  the  Brahmins?  So  they  came  back  to  the 
world  that  had  treated  them  so  badly  —  as  rats.  Killed 
by  the  want  of  grain,  they  returned  as  grain  devourers, 
and  the  round  completeness  of  this  retaliation  sufficed  to 
satisfy  the  Hindoo  mind  as  to  the  iniquity  of  injuring 
the  still  hungry  victims  of  the  great  famine.  That  they 
suffered  from  their  depredations,  their  own  memorials  to 
the  authorities  attested  amply.  "  We  had  promise  of  a 
good  crop.  But  in  came  a  multitude  of  -rats,  which 
have  carried  to  their  holes  our  ears  of  corn.  Thus  the 
morsel  was  taken  from  between  our  teeth,  and  the  corn- 
stalks stand  headless  in  the  fields."  The  government, 
in  reply,  assured  them  of  its  S3'mpath}',  assured  them 
also  of  its  knowledge  of  rat  habits,  and  begged  them  to 
kill  the  rats.  But  there  came  the  rub.  Could  a  Hindoo 
who  was  about  to  be  starved  kill  another  Hindoo  already 
once  starved  to  death  ?  Was  it  not  just  possible  that 
when  he  himself  had  been  starved  he  might  return  as  a 
rat?  To  set  such  a  precedent  might  be  to  commit  sui- 
cide while  committing  murder ;  so  the}*  declined  to  kill 
the  rats. 

17 


258  Unnatural  History. 

In  England  the  rat  plague  is  endemic.  Only  the 
other  da}-  the  populousness  of  subterranean  London  was 
indicated  by  the  disclosures  connected  with  a  case  in  a 
police  court;  for  in  the  evidence  taken  against  some 
men  charged  with  damaging  the  bank  of  the  Thames 
while  digging  for  rats,  it  was  alleged  that  these  creat- 
ures swarmed  ' '  by  tens  of  thousands  "  at  the  mouths  of 
the  sewers.  Here  they  work  to  admirable  purpose,  in 
so  far  as  they  clear  refuse  from  the  river  surface,  but, 
in  comparison  with  the  mischief  done  in  accomplishing 
it,  their  good  offices  are  seriously  depreciated.  Few 
creatures  have  attained  to  such  universal  abuse  as  the 
rat,  and  few,  perhaps,  have  deserved  so  much.  It  is 
true  that  its  sagacity  is  prodigious,  and  every  one  knows 
that  in  the  East  it  symbolizes  Ganesha,  the  god  of  wis- 
dom ;  but  its  sagacity  is  so  often  displayed  under  com- 
promising circumstances  that  the  rat  gains  little  respect 
for  the  possession  of  this  valuable  quality.  It  is  very 
sagacious,  no  doubt,  in  an  animal  to  dip  its  tail  in  a 
bottle  of  oil,  and  then  carry  its  tail  home  to  suck  at 
leisure,  but  such  larcenous  refreshment  will  not  com- 
mend itself  to  any  but  the  disreputable.  Nor  is  there 
much  that  is  admirable  in  the  wisdom  which  prompts 
the  rat  to  make  a  wheelbarrow  or  truck  of  itself,  for  the 
greater  convenience  of  removing  stolen  goods.  It  ap- 
pears that,  when  a  gang  have  come  upon  a  larger  plun- 
der than  they  can  carry  away  from  the  premises  inside 
them,  one  of  the  number  lies  down  on  his  back  while 
the  others  load  him  up  with  the  booty ;  that  he  balances 
the  pile  with  four  legs,  and,  to  make  matters  extra  safe, 
folds  his  tail  over  the  goods  and  holds  the  tip  in  his 
mouth,  and  that  his  pals  then  drag  him  off  along  the 
ground  by  the  ears  and  fur !  This  is  excellent  as  far  as 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  259 

the  idea  and  its  execution  are  concerned  ;  but,  after  all, 
the  end  to  which  such  means  are  adapted  —  the  ne- 
farious removal  of  another's  property  —  is  immoral,  and 
un worth}- of  imitation.  It  is  impossible  to  extend  sin- 
cere admiration  to  so  deplorable  a  misapplication  of 
genius. 

Nor  can  the  other  virtues  attributed  to  rats,  such  as 
considerate  treatment  of  the  blind  among  them,  their 
docilit}*  under  domestication,  and  their  industry,  be  re- 
garded as  unalloyed.  Their  industry,  for  instance,  is 
shown  by  perpetual  roracit}',  for  the  rat  never  ceases 
gnawing.  It  does  not  matter  to  the  small  beast  what 
the  substance  may  be,  so  long  as  its  consumption  does 
not  immediately  endanger  its  own  person,  for  it  takes  a 
house  just  as  it  comes,  and,  beginning  at  the  floor  of  the 
cellar,  goes  straight  through  to  the  slates.  Yet  this  is 
not  industry,  although  it  may  look  like  it,  for  the  rat 
must  either  nibble  or  die.  If  it  were  to  stop  nibbling, 
und  thus  allow  its  teeth  to  grow  unchecked,  they  would 
soon  overlap  each  other,  and  cause  lock-jaw,  or,  as 
from  accident  has  sometimes  occurred,  would  continue 
to  grow  in  a  curve  until  they  pierced  the  eye  or  the 
brain. 

On  the  rat's  consideration  for  its  kind,  again,  one  might 
put  a  very  sinister  construction,  for  the  knowledge  of  rat 
ways  might  prompt  the  belief  that  the  infirm  were  only 
being  cared  for  until  they  became  fit  to  eat,  and  that  the 
jealous  solicitude  apparently  being  displayed  for  the 
welfare  of  the  afflicted  relative  was  really  only  a  series 
of  selfish  precautions  to  prevent  others  from  surrepti- 
tiously making  away  with  the  object  of  their  care  before 
he  was  properly  fattened  for  their  own  eating.  The  can- 
nibal propensity  is,  indeed,  grossly  developed  among 


260  Unnatural  History. 

rats.  The  parents  eat  their  young,  deciding  for  their 
offspring  that  death  in  infancy  is  better  than  a  life  of 
troubles  :  and  the  young  who  survive,  seeing  around  them 
so  much  aged  misery,  and  deploring  such  a  future  for 
their  parents,  piously  consume  their  progenitors. 

Thus  too,  among  the  earlier  barbarians  of  the  Oxus, 
did  the  Massagetae  who,  if  history  has  not  traduced 
them,  ate  their  infirm  relatives,  not  from  ill-will  towards 
them,  but  as  a  public  duty.  Every  man  was  expected 
to  devour  his  own  parents,  and  the  interference  of  a 
stranger  in  the  solemn  rite  might  have  been  rudely  re- 
sented. For  a  conscientious  family,  though  they  would 
not  probably  at  other  times  have  grudged  him  a  seat  at 
their  board,  might  on  such  an  occasion  have  misunder- 
stood the  stranger's  offers  of  assistance,  as  reflecting 
upon  their  capacity  to  do  their  duty  without  outside 
help. 

In  its  origin  also  the  race  of  rats  resembles  exactly 
those  successive  waves  of  savage  humanity  that  have 
swept  westward  over  Europe,  coming  from  the  same 
Central  Asian  cradles,  and  tallying  with  them  in  the 
chronology  of  their  invasions.  Yet  their  great  nation 
has  also  thrown  out  from  time  to  time  colonies  of  a  far 
higher  stamp  of  emigrant.  Thus,  though  troops  of  rats 
followed  and  accompanied  the  Goth  and  the  Hun  and 
the  Tartar,  similar  migrations  marked  also  the  Norman 
invasion  and  the  Hanoverian  accession.  The  rats,  in 
fact,  are  the  doppelgangers  of  invaders  generally,  follow- 
ing the  provision  chests  of  every  human  exodus,  barba- 
rian or  otherwise ;  and  are  the  emblem  not  only  of 
determined  incursion,  but  permanent  occupation.  They 
are  the  type  of  the  successful  invader,  sagacious  in  fore- 
cast, fierce  in  attack,  and  tenacious  in  possession. 


Bears,  Wolves,  Dogs,  Eats.  261 

Wherever  their  colonies  are  planted,  the}"  take  deep  root 
at  once  and  for  ever,  and  the  aborigines  must  either  be 
absorbed  into  the  conquering  element,  or  disappear 
before  it.  Their  motto  is  "  Rats  or  nothing."  Rat 
society,  though  thus  maintaining  with  persistent  ferocity 
the  ground  it  has  gained,  and  gradually  extending  its 
area,  will  be  found,  in  its  latest  developments,  to  be 
eveiywhere  representative  of  the  most  degraded  classes 
of  humanity. 


262  Unnatural  History. 


VII. 

SOME  SEA-FOLK. 

Ocean-folk.  —  Mermaids  and  Manatees.  —  The  Solemnity  of 
Shapelessness.  —  Herds  of  the  Sea-gods.  —  Sea-things.  —  The 
Octopus  and  its  Kind.  —  Terrors  of  the  Deep  Sea.  —  Sea-ser- 
pents.—  Credible  and  Incredible  Varieties.  —  Delightful  possi- 
bilities  in  Cuttle-fish.  —  Ancient  and  Fish-like  Monsters.  — 
Credulity  as  to  Monsters,  Disastrous.  —  Snakes  in  Legend  and 
in  Nature.  —  Mr.  Ruskin  on  Snakes.  —  The  Snake-folk.  — 
Shesh,  the  Snake-god.  —  Primeval  Turtles  and  their  Contem- 
porary Aldermen.  —  Impropriety  of  Flippancy  about  Turtles. 

MERMAIDS,  though  still  reasonably  abundant  at 
country  fairs  in  Europe,  appear  to  have  be- 
come extinct  in  the  British  Isles. 

The  latest  authenticated  appearance  is  that  of  the  sup- 
posed mermaid  which  was  discovered  sporting  in  the 
sea  off  the  Caithness  shore,  but  which — by  his  own 
confession  —  turned  out  to  be  Sir  Humphrey  Davy 
bathing. 

Since  then,  there  have  been  several  claimants  to  the 
title,  but  all  have  collapsed  under  the  disintegrating 
touch  of  scientific  inquiry,  which,  resolving  the  several 
compositions  into  their  primal  elements,  classified  them 
in  detail  as  being  part  monkey,  part  salmon,  and  part 
leather. 

Some  no  doubt  —  and  I  for  one  —  regret  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  mermaid,  but  the  less  superstitious  majority 
"will  congratulate  Science  on  having  at  last  reduced  to 


Some  Sea-Folk.  263 


one  or  two  facts  all  the  miscellaneous  congregation  of 
sirens,  mermaids,  mermen,  tritons,  sea-cows,  sea-swine, 
sea-horses,  mer-devils,  sea-lions,  water-satyrs,  and  Un- 
dines, —  all  the  wilderness  of  aquatic  prodigies  deli- 
neated in  Aldrovandus  his  "History  of  Monsters,"  or 
spoken  of  from  eye-witness  by  Maundeville,  Olaus 
Magnus,  and  many  another.  The  sub-order  of  the 
Sirenia  now  includes  all  those  wonderful  animals  that 
have  given  the  silly  world  so  much  pleasant  fable,  and 
wise  men  so  much  trouble,  and  they  are  now  known 
as  the  Rhytinidse  and  the  Manatidae.  The  first  are 
extinct.  Like  the  dodos,  —  which  were  so  common  in 
the  Mauritius,  when  that  island  was  first  discovered, 
that  the  sailors  chased  them  about  by  hundreds,  knock- 
ing them  on  the  head  with  stones,  but  of  which  now 
there  are  only  two  beaks,  one  foot,  and  a  few  feathers 
to  bear  witness  that  this  great  bird  ever  existed,  —  the 
Rhytina  Stelleri,  or  Northern  Manatee,  was  found 
swarming  in  1741  upon  the  shores  of  an  island  in 
Behring's  Straits.  For  ten  months  the  shipwrecked 
sailors  entirely  supported  life  upon  its  flesh  and  oil,  and 
so  it  happened  that  when,  just  twenty-seven  years  later, 
an  expedition  went  out  to  inquire  if  a  manatee  fishery 
would  be  profitable,  it  was  found  that  not  a  single  spec- 
imen remained.  The  family  of  Rhytina  had  been 
actually  extinguished  from  the  world's  list  of  living 
things  in  twenty-seven  years,  and  the  only  remains  of 
this  astonishing  animal  at  present  known  to  exist  are 
one  skull  and  a  few  other  fragments  in  European 
museums.  Of  the  other  sub-family,  the  Manatidae 
proper,  many  species  are  known  to  naturalists,  and  the 
commonest  of  these,  the  manatee  of  the  American  coast, 
is  called  b'  showmen  the  "  West  India  Mermaid." 


264  Unnatural  History. 

Those  who  go  to  visit  one,  however,  should  dismiss 
from  their  minds  all  the  fancies  with  which  literature 
has  invested  these  sea-folk,  of  rosy  mermaids  golden- 
haired,  and  jolly  mermen  with  Bacchus  faces,  crowned 
with  coral.  Some,  no  doubt,  expect  a  shapely  Triton 
with  flowing  beard  and  his  couch-shell  slung  by  his  side, 
or  dainty  lad}7  of  those  siren  islands 

"  Whence  fairy-like  music  steals  over  the  sea, 
Entrancing  the  senses  with  charmed  melody." 

Others,  on  the  other  hand,  visit  it  with  preconceived 
ideas  of  some  narwhal  or  whale  creation,  expecting  a 
grampus-like  thing,  or  anticipating  a  porpoise.  But  it 
is  necessary  to  approach  the  mermaid  with  an  imagina- 
tion absolutely  blank,  for,  whatever  3-ou  try  to  imagine, 
you  will  be  utterly  discomfited  by  the  realitj'. 

Who,  indeed,  could  soberly  put  before  his  mind  the 
actual  features  of  this  sea-monster,  so  absurd  in  its 
shapelessness  that  if  it  were  -  to  be  exhibited  dead  the 
most  credulous  rustic  would  sneer  at  it  as  a  clumsy 
hoax  ?  Even  alive,  the  thing  looks  like  a  make-up,  and 
a  discreditable  one  ;  for  in  places  the  tail  and  paddling- 
paws  —  the}T  are  not  fins  nor  yet  legs  —  appear  to  have 
been  injured,  and  the  stuffing  looks  as  if  it  was  coming 
out.  The  ragged  edges  of  the  skin,  if  such  an  integu- 
ment is  to  be  called  skin,  fraj's  away  into  threads,  and, 
if  it  were  not  that  the  manatee  winks  occasionally,  the 
spectator  might  be  justified  in  asserting  his  own  ability 
to  make  a  better  monster.  But  it  is  this  very  simplicity 
of  its  composition  that  renders  the  preposterous  crea- 
ture so  astonishing  and  so  absurd.  Gustave  Dore  found 
out  the  secret,  that,  to  depict  the  perfection  of  a  mon- 
ster only  one  element  of  incongruous  monstrosity  should 


Some  Sea-Folk.  265 


be  utilized  at  a  time,  and  the  result  of  his  knowledge 
has  been  his  incomparable  creatures  of  fane}".  On  the 
other  hand,  from  ignorance  of  this  rule,  the  prodigious 
beings  of  Hindoo  fable  are  habitually  stupid  and  foolish, 
for  the  artist  overlays  his  subject  with  such  a  multitude 
of  deformities  that  the  complete  composition  is  silly  and 
senseless.  The  Hindoos,  therefore,  should  go  to  the 
manatee,  and  take  a  lesson  in  the  wonderful  effects  to  be 
produced  by  avoiding  elaborateness  of  detail,  for  no- 
thing in  the  animal  world  can  be  imagined  less  diversi- 
fied in  feature  than  this  mermaid  of  the  West  Indies. 
In  the  lower  world  of  creatures  the  slug  alone  presents 
us  with  an  equally  sober  monotony  of  outline ;  and 
if  a  seven-foot  slug  were  sewn  up  in  an  old  tarpau- 
lin, the  result  would  be  a  tolerable  reproduction  of  the 
manatee.  One  end  would  have  to  be  flattened  out  into 
a  gigantic  beaver's  tail,  and  the  other  be  shaped  snout- 
wise.  The  details  of  mouth,  nose,  e}-es,  and  ears  might 
be  left  to  the  creature's  own  fancy,  or  to  accident. 

Having  no  legs,  it  stands  on  its  tail,  and  to  keep  its 
balance  has  to  bend  the  head  forward  and  bow  the  body. 
In  this  attitude  of  helpless  humility  the  strange  thing 
stands  motionless  many  minutes  together,  and  then, 
with  a  ghost-like,  dreadful  solemnity,  it  begins  slowly 
to  stiffen  and  straighten  its  tail,  and  thus,  gradually 
rising  into  an  erect  posture,  thrusts  its  nostrils  above 
the  surface.  But  only  for  an  instant,  for  ere  it  seems 
to  have  had  time  to  take  a  breath,  the  great  body  begins 
to  sink  back  into  its  despondent  position,  and  the  small 
paddling-paws  drop  motionless  and  helpless  as  before. 
The  deliberate  sloth  with  which  the  manoeuvre  is  exe- 
cuted has  something  of  dignity  in  it,  but  otherwise  the 
manatee  is  as  ridiculous  as  it  is  helpless.  The  clumsy 


266  Unnatural  History. 

snout  is  constantly  twitching  like  a  rabbit's,  but  the 
gesture  that  seems  so  appropriate  in  the  nervous,  vigi- 
lant little  rodent  is  immeasurably  ludicrous  in  this  huge 
monstrosit}-.  The  eyes,  again,  now  contracted  to  a  pin's 
point,  now  expanded  full  to  gaze  at  you  with  expression- 
less pupils,  seern  to  move  by  a  mechanism  beyond  the 
creature's  control.  Voiceless  and  limbless,  the  bulky 
cetacean  swa}'s  to  and  fro,  the  very  embodiment  of 
stupid,  feeble  helplessness,  a  thing  for  shrimps  to  mock 
at  and  limpets  to  grow  upon. 

A  carcass  of  such  proportions,  such  an  appalling  con- 
tour, should,  to  satisfy  aesthetic  requirements,  possess 
some  stupendous  viUauy  of  character,  should  conceal 
under  such  an  inert  mass  of  flesh  some  hideous  criminal 
instinct.  Yet  this  great  shapeless  being,  this  numskull 
of  the  deep  sea,  is  the  most  innocent  of  created  things. 
It  lives  on  lettuce.  In  its  wild  state  it  browses,  along  the 
meadows  of  the  ocean  bed,  cropping  the  seaweeds  just 
as  kine  graze  upon  the  pastures  of  earth,  inoffensive 
and  sociable,  rallying  as  cattle  do  for  mutual  defence 
against  a  common  danger,  placing  the  calves  in  the 
middle,  while  the  bulls  range  themselves  on  the  threat- 
ened quarter.  These  are  the  herds  which  the  poets 
make  Proteus  and  the  sea-gods  tend,  the  harmless 
beeves  with  whom  the  sad  Parthenope  shared  her  sor- 
rows !  These  are  the  actual  realities  that  have  given 
rise  to  so  many  a  pretty  fiction,  the  dull  chrysalids  from 
which  have  swarmed  so  many  butterflies. 

It  is  disappointing  to  those  who  cherish  old-world 
fancies  ;  but  to  Science  the  lazy,  uncouth  manatee  is  a 
precious  thing.  Science,  indeed,  has  seldom  had  a  more 
pleasing  labor  than  the  examination  and  identification 
of  this  animal ;  for,  though  so  ludicrously  simple  in 


Some  Sea- Folk.  267 


appearance,  it  is  a  veritable    casket  of  physiological 
wonders. 

It  is  the  only  creature  known  that  has  three  eyelids 
to  each  eye,  and  two  hearts.  In  most  of  its  points 
it  bears  a  close  affinity  to  the  elephant,  but  in  others 
of  equal  importance  it  is  unmistakably  a  whale  !  Its 
teeth,  bones,  and  skin  are  all  delightful  studies  to 
the  naturalist,  and  he  is  thankful,  therefore,  that  the 
manatee  is  what  it  is,  and  not  the  veritable  mermaid 
that  less  prosaic  minds  would  have  it.  Even  these,  how- 
ever, may  find  some  consolation  for  the  loss  of  their 
ocean  folk  in  learning  of  the  strange  ways  of  this  strange 
beast,  and  its  tranquil  life  below  the  sea,  nibbling  about 
in  great  meadows  of  painted  seaweed.  Some  travellers 
have  given  it  a  voice.  Captain  Colnett  has  left  it  on 
record  that  one  remained  by  his  ship  for  three  hours, 
"'littering  sounds  of  lamentation  like  those  produced  by 
the  female  human  voice  when  expressing  the  deepest 
distress  ; "  and  another  mariner  tells  us  how,  when  sail- 
ing in  an  open  boat,  they  surprised  a  manatee  asleep, 
and,  thinking  it  to  be  a  merman,  they  hesitated  to  har- 
poon it,  and  how  on  a  sudden  the  creature  awoke,  and 
with  an  angry  shout  plunged  into  the  depths  !  Anger, 
nevertheless,  appears  to  be  utterly  foreign  to  its  charac- 
ter, for  among  the  Malays  the  name  of  the  Eastern 
species  is  a  synonym  for  gentle  affection,  and  every 
writer,  from  Buffon  to  our  time,  bears  evidence  to  its 
sociability  and  remarkable  absence  of  fear  of  men.  But, 
alas  for  the  manatee !  Its  virtues  are  its  bane,  for 
whether  among  the  West  India  islands  or  the  creeks  of 
the  Guiana  and  the  Brazilian  coast,  in  the  estuaries  of 
the  Oronoko  and  the  Amazon,  in  the  river-mouths 
of  Western  Africa,  or  in  the  archipelago  of  the  Eastern 


268  Unnatural  History. 

seas,  the  same  fearless  confidence  in  man  is  rapidly 
hastening  its  extinction.  The  flesh  is  excellent  food, 
the  blubber  yields  a  fine  oil,  the  skin  is  of  valuable 
toughness,  and  so  before  long  the  manatee  of  the  warm 
seas  may  be  expected  to  be  as  extinct  as  its  congener  of 
the  cold  North,  —  the  lost  rhytina  of  Behring's  Straits. 

Victor  Hugo,  in  his  Guernsey  romance,  "  The  Toilers 
of  the  Sea,"  presented  the  world  with  a  monster,  a 
terror  of  the  deep  waters,  something  like  the  gruesome 
spider-crab  of  Erckmann-Chatrian,  but  even  more  hor- 
rible. It  was  the  pieuvre,  a  colossal  cuttle-fish,  which 
had  its  den  far  down  in  the  sea  among  the  roots  of  the 
rocks ;  a  terrible  long-aimed  thing  that  lurked  in  the 
caverns  of  the  deep,  grappling  from  its  retreat  with  any 
passing  creature,  paralyzing  it  b}*  fastening  one  by  one 
a  thousand  suckers  upon  it,  and  slowly  dragging  its 
victim,  numbed  with  pain,  towards  the  awful  iron  beak 
that  la}7  in  the  centre  of  the  soft,  cruel  arms.  The 
novelist's  pieuvre  was  hideous  enough,  and  his  descrip- 
tion surpassing  in  its  horrors,  but  in  Schiller's  poem  of 
"  The  Diver,"  a  thing  of  similar  character,  but  rendered 
even  more  awful  by  not  being  described  at  all,  com- 
passes the  death  of  the  hero.  He  did  not,  like  Victor 
Hugo's  sailor,  have  a  protracted  struggle  with  the  mys- 
terious creature,  and  then  come  back  to  his  friends  with 
details  of  its  personal  appearance,  but  he  dived  out  of 
sight  and  never  returned.  Schiller  does  not  attempt, 
therefore,  to  describe  the  indescribable  thing,  but  simply 
calling  it  das,  throws  the  reader  back  in  imagination 
upon  all  the  horrible  legends  of  the  Mediterranean 
coasts  and  islands,  to  guess  for  himself  the  sort  of 
monster  it  must  have  been  that  had  seized  the  hapless 


Some  Sea-Folk.  269 


diver  and  devoured  him  at  its  leisure  in  the  twilight 
depths  of  the  sea. 

Such  monsters  as  these,  it  has  been  dryly  thought, 
belong  only  to  legend  and  fable  and  poem,  but  this  is 
not  the  case.  Pieuvres  of  the  Victor  Hugo  type,  and 
"things"  such  as  Schiller  hints  at,  are,  it  is  true,  ex- 
aggerated specimens  of  the  species,  but  their  congeners 
—  and  dreadful  ones,  too  —  do  actually  exist,  for  they 
have  been  seen  and  fought  with  and  described,  and 
scientific  conditions  are  all  amply  satisfied  by  those  de- 
scriptions. Not  long  ago,  a  government  diver  at  Bel- 
fast, Victoria,  had  a  narrow  escape  from  losing  his  life 
in  the  clutch  of  a  huge  octopus.  It  had  seized  his  left 
arm,  causing  dreadful  agony  by  the  fastening  of  its 
suckers  upon  the  limb ;  but  the  diver  had  an  iron  bar  in 
his  right  hand,  and,  after  a  struggle  that  seemed  to  him 
to  last  twenty  minutes,  during  which  the  monster  tried 
hard  to  drag  him  down,  he  battered  his  assailant  into  a 
shapeless  mass,  and  freed  himself  from  its  horrid  grasp. 
Schiller's  "Taucher"  had  no  iron  bar,  and  his  bones, 
therefore,  went  to  increase  the  heap  which  pieuvres, 
so  Victor  Hugo  says,  accumulate  at  the  mouths  of  their 
deep-sea  dens. 

It  is  all-important,  for  the  existence  of  these  mon- 
strous poulpes,  cuttle-fish,  octopuses,  or  sepias,  that 
Science  should  countenance  them ;  for,  so  long  as  pro- 
fessors array  their  calmly  sceptical  opinions  on  the  one 
side,  no  number  of  sworn  affidavits  from  the  public  as 
to  personal  encounters  with  the  pieuvre  will  suffice  to 
establish  the  creature  as  a  verity.  In  the  case  of  that 
other  terror  of  the  ocean,  the  sea-serpent,  science  goes 
dead  against  its  existence,  and  Professor  Owen  speaks 
far  too  weightily  for  even  sober  official  accounts  of  the 


270  Unnatural  History. 

great  snake  to  be  accepted  as  convincing  evidence  in  its 
behalf.  Thus  Captain  M'Quhae,  of  Her  Majesty's  ship 
"  Daedalus,"  declared,  in  a  report  to  the  Admiralty  thirty 
years  ago,  that  he  and  his  officers  had  seen  sixty  feet 
of  a  marine  monster,  with  the  head  of  a  snake,  under 
conditions  which,  taken  with  the  trustworthiness  and 
sobriety  of  his  evidence,  places  the  record  of  his  en- 
counter with  "the  great  sea-serpent"  above  all  others 
that  either  preceded  or  followed  it.  Yet  even  this 
account,  so  cautious  in  its  language,  and  given  by  men 
so  eminently  capable  of  judging  of  objects  seen  at  sea, 
was  completely  met  at  every  point  by  the  scientific  ver- 
dict of  "  impossible." 

That  sixty-foot  monsters  besides  whales  may  exist 
Professor  Owen  does  not  deny,  for  have  we  not  already 
seals -of  thirty  feet  and  sharks  of  forty,  besides  congers 
of  unknown  lengths?  But  he  says  this  :  if  sea-serpents 
have  been  in  the  seas  from  the  first,  and  are  still  there 
in  such  numbers  as  reports  would  have  us  believe,  how 
is  it  that  no  single  fragment  of  one,  fossilized  or  not, 
has  ever  yet  been  washed  ashore  or  dug  up  ?  The  nega- 
tive evidence  from  the  utter  absence  of  any  remains 
weighs,  therefore,  with  the  scientific  mind,  and  ought 
also  with  public  opinion,  against  even  such  positive  evi- 
dence as  that  of  the  commander  of  the  "  Daedalus  ;  "  for, 
after  all,  just  as  positive  evidence  from  just  as  trust- 
worthy witnesses  abounds  for  the  proof  of  ghosts.  So 
the  grand  old  kraken,  the  great  sea-worm,  remains  still 
without  identity ;  and  though  I  trust  humanit}-  will 
never  abandon  any  of  its  "  glorious  old  traditions,"  es- 
pecially such  a  fascinating  one  as  the  sea-serpent,  I 
would  caution  it  in  the  matter  of  any  kraken  professing 
to  be  more  than  a  hundred  }-ards  long,  lest  it  should  be 


Some  Sea-Folk.  271 


said  of  them  that  they  prefer  "  the  excitement  of  the 
imagination  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  judgment." 

For  monster  cuttle-fishes,  however,  the  public  has  the 
permission  of  science  to  believe  anything  it  likes  ;  and, 
in  fact,  the  more  the  better.  It  may  swell  out  the  bag- 
like  bodies  of  the  poulpe  to  any  dimensions  consistent 
with  the  containing  capacities  of  an  ocean,  and  pull  out 
their  arms  until,  like  Denys  de  Montford's  octopus,  they 
are  able  to  twist  one  tentacle  round  each  of  the  masts 
of  a  line-of-battle  ship,  and,  holding  on  with  the  rest  to 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  to  engulf  the  gallant  vessel  with 
all  sail  set.  Science  is  helpless  to  oppose  the  belief  in 
such  monsters,  for  they  are  scientifically  possible,  and, 
from  the  sizes  already  recorded,  there  is  no  limit  rea- 
sonably assignable  to  their  further  extension,  so  that 
everybody  is  at  liberty  to  revel  "  by  authority  "  in  cut- 
tle-fishes as  big  as  possible.  The  Victorian  octopus  re- 
ferred to  above  measured  only  eight  feet,  but  this  proved 
almost  sufficient  to  kill  a  strong  man,  while  the  body 
belonging  to  a  specimen  of  such  dimensions  would  have 
been  quite  heavy  enough,  had  the  arms  once  fairly 
grappled  the  victim,  to  sink  him  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  where,  anchoring  itself  by  its  suckers  to  a  rock  in 
the  sea-bed,  the  monster  could  have  eaten  its  pro}*  at 
leisure.  The  octopus,  moreover,  is  ver}"  active,  as  the 
nature  of  its  usual  food  —  fishes  and  crustaceans  —  re- 
quires it  should  be  ;  and  the  danger,  therefore,  to  man, 
from  the  huge  specimens  which  travellers  have  recorded 
—  that  of  M.  vSander  Rang,  for  instance,  the  body  of 
which  was  as  large  as  "a  large  cask" — would  be 
very  terrible  indeed  ;  but  fortunate!}*  gigantic  specimens, 
though  indisputably  existing,  are  not  common  on  popu- 
lous coasts. 


272  Unnatural  History. 

In  a  paper  once  read  to  the  British  Association  by 
Colonel  Smith,  the  writer  adduced  many  instances  of 
colossal  sepias,  among  them  an  enormity  of  forty 
feet,  and  another,  hardly  less,  of  which  fragments  are 
preserved  in  the  Haarlem  Museum.  General  Eden  re- 
cords one  of  over  twenty  feet  in  length,  and  another 
creature  of  the  same  order,  taken  up  on  a  ship  at  sea, 
which  had  arms  that  measured  no  less  than  thirty-six 
feet.  In  this  way,  increasing  foot  by  foot,  each  en- 
larging specimen  becomes  a  possibihMr,  until  at  last 
there  would  be  no  reason  for  disbelieving  even  that 
wonderful  story  of  Captain  Blaney,  who  mistook  a  dead 
cuttle-fish  for  a  bank,  and  landed  on  it  with  sixty  men ! 
But  this  was  of  course  very  long  ago  indeed,  and  may 
now  be  relegated  to  the  limbo  of  Pontoppidan's  famous 
monsters,  —  the  krakens  with  lions'  manes,  that  got  up 
on  end  and  roared,  and  pieuvres  that  hunted  ships  at 
sea.  If  ever,  however,  the  cuttle  fish  should  reach  its 
fullest  length  and  greatest  bulk,  the  sea-serpent  itself 
would  have  but  a  poor  chance  with  it,  so  that  we  have, 
after  all,  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that,  though  science 
forbids  us  to  possess  a  kraken,  we  do  possess  in  actual 
fact  another  monster  which,  if  the  kraken  did  exist, 
could  probably  catch  it  and  eat  it  up. 

Sea-serpents,  in  spite  of  repeated  efforts  to  obtain  re- 
spectable recognition,  have  been  hitherto  regarded  as 
mythical.  For  one  thing,  they  showed  no  judgment  in 
the  selection  of  individuals  to  whom  to  exhibit  them- 
selves ;  and  the  testimony  of  their  existence  afforded  by 
the  masters  of  ships  unknown  on  Lloyd's  registers,  and 
by  American  captains  "  of  undoubted  veracity  "  served 
only  to  plunge  the  monsters  of  the  deep  seas  more  pro- 


Some  Sea-Folk.  273 


foundly  into  the  obscurity  of  fable.  Their  opportuni- 
ties for  declaring  themselves  have  been  many,  but  they 
have  preferred  to  come  to  the  surface  only  when  un- 
scientific and  untrustworthy  witnesses  happened  to  be 
passing  overhead.  A  score  of  appearances  of  the  sea- 
serpent  have  been  recorded  in  as  many  years,  but  not 
one  has  gained  credence,  because,  in  the  first  place,  of 
this  defect  in  the  credibility  of  the  narrators,  and  in 
the  next,  because  each  man  described  such  a  different 
monster. 

The  whole  marine  fauna,  from  the  narwhal  to  the 
octopus,  was  drawn  upon  for  contributions  to  the  hybrid 
thing  which  we  were  asked  to  believe  was  the  veritable 
kraken ;  but  when  all  the  tusks  and  tails,  legs  and 
manes,  fiery  eyes  and  scales,  horses'  heads  and  wings 
came  to  be  fitted  on  to  a  serpentine  form  of  prodigious 
bulk  and  length,  the  miscellaneous  result  was  so  out- 
rageous that  credulity  was  staggered,  and  men,  in  de- 
spair, refused  to  believe  even  in  a  decent  sea-serpent, 
or  anj-  sea-serpent  at  alL 

A  moderate  animal  of  about  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet  in 
length,  with  the  girth  of  an  average  barrel  or  two,  and, 
say,  half-a-dozen  plausible  propellers  or  even  a  twin 
screw,  with  a  respectable  snake's  head  at  one  end  and 
coming  to  a  proper  point  at  the  other,  —  such  a  creature 
would  have  been  admitted  into  ever}*  household  as  an 
article  of  belief,  and  have  largely  assisted  in  developing 
the  3'oung  idea  as  to  Behemoth  and  Leviathan  and  the 
other  wonders  of  the  sea,  which,  in  default  of  a  definite 
beast,  have  so  long  loomed  hazily  in  the  child-mind 
as  mere  figures  of  speech.  When,  however,  we  were 
gravel}'  asked  to  introduce  to  the  notice  of  our  school- 
children a  heterogeneous  patchwork  monstrosity  that 

18 


274  Unnatural  History. 

stood  up  from  its  middle  to  rest  its  chin  on  the  topgal- 
lant-stunsail-boom  of  a  three-masted  ship  ;  that  spouted 
and  roared  at  one  end  and  lashed  up  the  sea  into  little 
bubbles  at  the  other ;  that  reared  horned  heads  out  of 
water,  glaring  the  while  with  63-68  of  flame  upon  the 
trembling  mariners,  shaking  aloft  a  more  than  leonine 
mane  of  hair,  and  paddling  in  the  ah-  with  great  up- 
lifted paws,  — parents,  I  think  did  well  to  warn  off  so 
disreputable  an  apparition  from  the  sacred  ground  of 
infant  schools  and  nurseries,  and  the  scientific  world 
showed  judgment  in  withdrawing  its  approbation  from 
such  a  disorganizing  beast. 

Nature  insists  upon  her  proprieties  being  observed, 
.and  so  long  as  man  remembers  this,  his  zoological  be- 
liefs will  remain  fit  to  lie  upon  every  breakfast  table. 

But  if  once  we  fall  from  the  strict  paths  of  possibility, 
our  facts  become  improbable,  and  there  will  be  an  in- 
rush of  creatures  trampling  across,  flying  over,  and 
swimming  through  every  rule  of  natural  history,  every 
law  of  creation.  If  once  the  key  is  turned  to  let  in 
these  disturbing  dualities,  a  mob  of  indeterminate 
things  —  gryphons  and  sphinxes,  basilisks  and  dragons, 
wolf-men  and  vampires,  unicorns  and  cockatrices  —  will 
crowd  into  the  orderly  courts  of  knowledge,  and,  break- 
ing down  all  the  bulwarks  of  our  rational  beliefs,  will  seat 
themselves  triumphantly  among  the  ruins  of  science  ! 

No  such  dismal  prospect  of  scientific  chaos  need,  how- 
ever, be  entertained  from  the  latest  appearance  of  the 
sea-serpent,  an  animal  which,  from  its  description,  would 
seem  one  that  may  be  confidently  admitted  into  the  best 
conducted  families  as  an  article  of  household  faith. 
Captain  Cox,  master  of  the  British  ship  "  Privateer," 
states  that  a  hundred  miles  west  of  Brest,  at  five  o'clock 


Some  Sea-Folk.  275 


on  the  afternoon  of  a  fine,  clear  day,  he  saw,  some  three 
hundred  }-ards  off,  about  twenty  feet  of  a  black  snake- 
like  body,  three  feet  in  diameter,  moving  through  the 
water  towards  his  ship.  As  it  approached,  he  distinctly 
perceived  its  eel-like  head  and  its  e3-es ;  but  the  sea- 
serpent,  when  it  got  so  close  as  this,  took  fright  and 
plunged  with  a  great  splash  under  the  water,  and  then, 
turning  itself  round  with  a  mighty  disturbance  of  the 
sea,  made  off,  raising  its  head  frequently  as  it  went. 
Now,  here  there  is  no  extraordinary  demand  made  upon 
credulity,  for  the  merest  infant  can  comfortably  enter- 
tain the  idea,  in  twenty-foot  lengths,  at  any  rate,  of  a 
snake  as  thick  as  an  eighteen-gallon  cask.  The  color, 
too,  is  simple  black,  and  the  head  has  no  features  more 
surprising  than  e}-es. 

The  great  sea-serpent,  therefore,  is,  after  all,  found  to 
come  within  the  compass  of  the  ordinary  human  under- 
standing, and  we  are  not  asked  to  believe  in  more  than 
a  somewhat  magnified  conger-eel.  In  behavior,  also, 
the  present  animal  differs  agreeably  and  rationally  from 
all  preceding  avatars  of  the  great  sea-worm,  as  the 
Danes  call  it ;  for  except  that  it  splashed  extravagantly 
when  it  turned  round  in  the  water,  it  did  not  demean 
itself  otherwise  than  might  respectably  be  permitted  to 
a  snake  of  such  dimensions.  At  the  same  time,  how- 
ever, such  is  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  there  will 
be  vestiges  of  regret  for  the  turbulent,  ill-behaved  mon- 
strosit}7  that  has  hitherto  done  duty  as  the  sea-serpent. 
The  present  worm  is  perhaps  just  a  little  too  tame.  If 
it  had  only  shown  a  scale  or  two,  or  sparkled  slightly  at 
the  nostrils,  or  betra}Ted  some  tendency  towards  horns 
or  claws,  shaken  just  a  little  mane,  —  not  too  much,  of 
course,  —  or  snorted,  or  brayed,  or  even  squeaked  mod- 


276  Unnatural  History. 

erately,  we  should  have  been  better  satisfied.  We  should 
have  felt  that  we  had  got  something.  As  it  is,  we  have 
got  oiily  a  huge  eel,  —  no  crest  of  hair,  no  flames,  no 
ravening  jaws,  —  a  dull  eel,  too,  that  behaved  with  dis- 
appointing respectability,  not  even  rising  to  a  spout  or 
a  roar.  It  kept  itself  horizontal  on  the  water,  instead 
of  standing  on  one  end,  and  when  it  wished  to  go  in 
the  opposite  direction,  did  so  by  the  ordinary  process  of 
moving  round,  instead  of  leaping  dolphin-wise  or  turn- 
ing a  prodigious  somersault.  All  this  is  discouraging, 
but  it  is  an  ill-conditioned  mind  that  cannot  accept  the 
inevitable  with  composure,  and,  after  all,  half  a  sea- 
serpent  is  better  than  none. 

For  until  his  latest  revelation,  we  had  really  no  sea- 
serpent  to  speak  of;  and  now  that  we  have  at  least 
twenty  feet  well  authenticated,  we  ma}-  rest  for  the  time 
contented.  The  only  consolation  is  that  the  rest  of  the 
Soe  Ormen  may  one  day  more  completely  fulfil  our  aspi- 
rations for  something  to  wonder  at  and  disbelieve  in ; 
for  who  can  tell  what  singularities  of  contour  remained 
hidden  in  the  sea  when  the  commonplace  head  and 
shoulders  were  exposed,  or  who  even  can  guess  at  the 
length  of  the  whole?  Delightful  possibilities,  therefore, 
still  remain  to  us  ;  and,  while  we  can  safely  add  one  end 
of  the  new  monster  to  our  marine  zoology,  we  can 
cling  with  the  other  to  all  the  fauna  of  old-world  fancjr. 
Twenty  feet  of  an  eel  need  not  prevent  us  hoping  for 
another  hundred  of  something  else ;  nor  are  we  com- 
pelled from  so  commonplace  a  commencement  to  argue 
a  commonplace  termination.  Meanwhile,  we  have  a 
solid  instalment  of  three  fathoms  of  a  sea-serpent  to 
work  upon,  and  it  will  be  discreditable  to  national  en- 
terprise if  something  more  —  and  a  great  deal  more, 
too  —  does  not  come  of  it  before  long. 


Some  Sea-Folk.  277 


Favorable  to  such  discovery  is  the  habitat  now  as- 
signed to  the  great  conger,  for  it  lies  on  the  highway 
of  our  commerce.  Hitherto,  fiords  on  the  Scandinavian 
coast,  the  headlands  of  Greenland,  and  other  unfre- 
quented waterways  have  been  selected  by  krakens  and 
aaletusts  for  their  exhibitions ;  and  though  Danes, 
Swedes,  and  Norsemen  generalh*  have  long  believed  in 
the  existence  of  these  monsters  of  the  deep,  their  haunts 
were  so  much  out  of  the  way  of  regular  sea  traffic,  that 
only  fishermen,  the  most  superstitious  and  credulous  of 
mankind,  could  say  they  had  actually  seen  them.  Now 
and  again  a  glimpse  was  said  to  have  been  caught  in 
more  accessible  waters  of  some  bulky  thing  answering 
in  length  of  body  to  the  description  of  a  serpent,  but 
flaws  in  the  evidence  always  marred  the  value  of  the 
great  vision.  Six  hundred  feet  of  one,  was,  for  in- 
stance, recorded  off  the  English  coast,  but  here  the 
length  alone  sufficed  to  quench  belief;  while  the  other, 
with  eyes  "large  and  blue,  like  a  couple  of  pewter 
plates,"  found  basking  off  the  shore  of  Norway,  was 
discredited  by  its  possessing  legs.  Exactly  a  hundred 
years  ago  a  whole  ship's  crew  vouched  for  the  following 
awful  apocalj-pse  of  the  terrors  of  the  sea :  "  A  hundred 
fathoms  long,  with  the  head  of  a  horse  ;  the  mouth  large 
and  black,  and  a  white  mane  hanging  from  the  neck. 
It  raised  itself  so  high  that  it  reached  above  the  top 
of  the  mast,  and  it  spouted  water  like  a  whale  ; "  and, 
what  is  more,  the  skipper  shot  it ! 

Captain  Cox,  then,  will  have  to  work  hard  before  he 
can  bring  his  worm  abreast  of  so  thrilling  a  creature ; 
but,  meanwhile,  he  has  commenced  well.  To  him  we 
owe  the  latest  confirmation  of  one  of  the  oldest  of  the 
world's  superstitions,  and  though,  in  confirming  it,  he 


278  Unnatural  History. 

has  divested  the  thing  of  our  fancy  of  all  that  made  it 
precious,  he  has  given  us  in  place  of  the  rampageous 
sea-serpent  of  our  ancestors,  tinkered  out  of  scraps 
from  half  the  beasts  in  nature,  a  plausible  and  well-con- 
ducted eel.  Asa  first  attempt  at  a  sea-serpent  fit  to  be 
figured  in  a  standard  book  it  is  commendable,  but  what 
I  should  like  to  see  now  is  —  the  other  end  of  it. 

It  is  one  of  the  disappointments  of  my  life  that  I 
have  never  heard  Mr.  Ruskin  lecture  on  Snakes.  Both 
the  subject  and  the  lecturer  present  to  the  imagination 
such  boundless  possibilities  that  no  one  could  guess 
where  the  snakes  would  take  Mr.  Ruskin  before  he  had 
done  with  them,  or  where  Mr.  Ruskin  would  take  the 
snakes.  Without  a  horizon  on  any  side  of  him,  the 
speaker  could  hold  high  revel  among  a  multitude  of  de- 
lightful phantasies,  and  make  holiday  with  all  the  beasts 
of  fable.  Ranging  from  Greek  to  Saxon  and  from  Latin 
to  Norman,  Mr.  Ruskin  could  traverse  all  the  cloud- 
lands  of  myth  and  the  solid  fields  of  history,  lighting  the 
way  as  he  went  with  felicitous  glimpses  of  a  wise  fancy, 
and  bringing  up  in  quaint  disorder,  and  yet  in  order  too, 
ah1  the  grotesque  things  that  heraldry  owns  and  the  old 
world  in  days  past  knew  so  much  of:  the  wyvern,  with 
its  vicious  aspect  but  inadequate  stomach  ;  the  spiny  and 
always  rampant  dragon-kind  ;  the  hydra,  that  unhappy 
beast  which  must  have  suffered  from  so  many  headaches 
at  once,  and  been  racked  at  times,  no  doubt,  with  a  mul- 
titudinous toothache ;  the  crowned  basilisk,  king  of  the 
reptiles  and  chiefest  of  vermin  ;  the  gorgon,  with  snakes 
for  hair,  and  the  terrible  echidna ;  the  cockatrice,  fell 
worm,  whose  first  glance  was  petrifaction,  and  whose 
second,  death;  the  salamander,  of  such  subtle  sort  that 


Some  Sea-Folk.  279 


he  digested  flames  ;  the  chimaera,  shapeless  j*et  deadly  ; 
the  dread  cerastes ;  the  aspic,  pretty  worm  of  Nilus, 
but  fatal  as  lightning  and  as  swift;  and  the  dypsas, 
whose  portentous  aspect  sufficed  to  hold  the  path 
against  an  arm}'  of  Rome's  choicest  legions.  All  these, 
and  many  more,  are  at  the  lecturer's  service  as  he 
travels  from  age  to  age  of  serpent  adoration,  and  turns 
with  skilful  hand  the  different  facets  of  his  diamond 
subject  to  the  listener's  ear.  From  astronomy,  where 
Serpentarius,  baleful  constellation,  glitters,  and  refulgent 
Draco  rears  his  impossible  but  delightful  head,  the 
speaker  could  run  through  all  the  forms  of  dragon 
idealism,  recalling  to  bis  audience  as  he  went  on  his 
way,  beset  with  unspeakable  monsters,  the  poems  of 
Greek  and  of  older  mythologies,  and  touching  on  our 
own  fictions  of  asp  and  adder,  and  other  strange  reptile 
things,  —  defining,  however,  all  the  while,  with  the  bold 
outlines  of  a  master-hand,  the  vast  scheme  of  creation, 
wherein  the  chain  of  resemblance  is  never  snapped  and 
like  slides  into  like,  until  the  whole  stands  revealed 
complete,  a  puzzle  for  the  grown-up  children  of  men  to 
put  together  in  a  thousand  different  ways,  but  one  which 
will  never  fit  in  properly,  piece  to  piece,  unless  the  ulti- 
mate design  be  a  perfect  circle,  a  serpent  with  its  tail 
hi  its  mouth,  a  coil  without  a  break.  Fresh,  racy 
morals,  too,  are  to  be  drawn  from  the  reptile  kind ;  so 
that,  though  on  an  excursion  into  strange  lands,  and 
seeing  only  the  strangest  creatures  in  them,  an  audience 
might  understand,  even  in  such  fantastic  company,  that 
the  whole  of  them  —  the  flowers  that  were  snakes,  and 
the  birds  that  were  beasts,  and  many  things  that  were 
neither  one  nor  the  other  —  fitted  in  somehow  or  other, 
by  hook  or  by  crook,  by  tooth  or  by  nail,  into  a  com- 
prehensive scheme  of  unity. 


280  Unnatural  History. 

What  a  subject,  indeed,  for  such  a  lecturer  to  choose  ; 
Professor  Huxley  once  selected  the  snake  theme,  and, 
bringing  to  bear  on  it  all  the  vast  resources  of  his 
scientific  mind,  made  the  topic  instinct  with  interest. 
There  yet  remained,  however,  for  Mr.  Ruskin's  magic, 
ample  space  and  verge  for  holiday-making,  for  just  as  it 
was  with  the  chimsera  in  Coleridge's  problem,  that  went 
bombouating,  (booming  like  a  bumble-bee)  in  space,  so 
there  is  such  a  prodigious  quantity  of  room  to  spare  in 
the  realms  of  snake  fancy  that  no  lecturer  need  fear  to 
come  into  collision  with  any  solids,  let  him  dissipate  as 
he  will.  Again,  it  happens  that  nearly  all  the  world  of 
myths  converges  upon,  or  radiates  from,  the  great  ser- 
pent fact;  so  that  Mr.  Ruskin,  sitting  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  fairy  web,  could  shake  as  he  liked  all  the  strands 
to  its  utmost  circumference.  Seated  by  the  shores  of 
old  romance,  he  could  at  any  time  have  thrown  his  peb- 
bles where  he  would,  certain  of  raising  ripples  every- 
where, and  of  disturbing  from  each  haunted  reed-bed 
flocks  of  fabled  things.  But  how  much  greater  was  his 
power  of  raising  these  spirits  of  past  story  when  he 
circled  over  the  same  regions  of  imagination  bestriding 
a  winged  snake  —  churning  up  the  old  waters  with  a 
Shesh  of  his  own,  and  summoning  into  sight  at  the 
sound  of  his  pipe  all  the  mysterj'-loving  reptiles  of 
mj-thology,  like  one  of  the  old  Psylli  or  the  Marmarids, 
or  one  of  the  Magi,  sons  of  Chus,  "  tame,  at  whose 
voice,  spellbound,  the  dread  cerastes  la}-." 

Eastern  charmers,  with  their  bags  of  battered  snakes, 
not  a  tooth  among  them  all,  become  very  poor  impostors 
indeed,  compared  with  our  modern  master  of  reptile 
manipulation.  The  Hindoo's  snakes  are  feeble,  jaded 
vermin,  sick  of  the  whole  exhibition  as  mere  ill-timed 


Some  Sea-Folk.  281 


foolery,  tired  of  the  everlasting  old  pipe  that  they  have 
to  get  up  to  dance  to,  and  weary  of  longing  for  just  one 
hour  of  vigorous  youth,  when  their  poison  fangs  were 
still  in  their  jaws,  that  they  might  send  the  old  man 
who  charms  them  to  his  forefathers  in  exactly  twenty 
minutes  by  the  clock.  But  Mr.  Ruskin  works  only 
with  fresh-caught  subjects,  or,  at  any  rate,  with  old 
subjects  so  revivified  that  they  leap  from  under  his  hand, 
each  of  them  a  surprise.  The  wise  snakes  of  Colchis 
and  of  Thebes  and  of  Delphi  —  I  need  not  identify 
them  more  exactly  —  fall  briskly  into  their  places  in  the 
ring  of  the  creative  system,  and  every  flower  furnishes 
forth  a  Pythonissa  to  tell  our  new  Apollo  the  secrets  of 
a  new  cult.  Does  genius  feed  on  snakes,  that  it  never 
grows  old?  The  ancients  said  that  the  flesh  of  the 

o 

ophidians,  though  the  deadliest  of  created  things,  gave 
eternal  youth,  and  even  cured  death  itself;  and,  though 
fatal  as  the  shears  of  Atropos,  the  poison  of  asps  was 
the  supreme  drug  in  the  cabinet  of  the  God  of  Doctors. 

Even  to  our  own  day  the  legend  comes  down,  tamed 
of  course  to  suit  the  feeble  representatives  of  the  ser- 
pent kind  that  are  found  in  this  country  ;  for  in  English 
folk-lore  it  is  an  article  of  belief  that  the  flesh  of  vipers 
is  an  antidote  to  their  poison,  and  that,  though  "the 
beauteous  adder  hath  a  sting,  it  bears  a  balsam  too." 
All  dangerous  swellings  also,  such  as  erysipelas  and 
goitres,  may  be  cured,  it  is  satisfactory  to  know  on 
rustic  authority,  by  eating  a  viper  from  the  tail  upwards, 
like  a  carrot ;  or,  simpler  still,  by  rubbing  the  affected 
part  with  a  harmless  grass-snake,  and  then  burying  the 
worm  alive  in  a  bottle.  But  the  justice  here  appears  to 
me  very  defective,  and  will  no  doubt  recall  that  duel  the 
other  day,  where  two  women  went  out  to  fight  "for  all 


282  Unnatural  History. 

the  world  like  men."  They  exchanged  shots,  and  one 
bullet  taking  effect  on  a  neighbor's  boy,  as  he  was 
scrambling  through  the  hedge,  and  the  other  having  hit 
a  cow  that  was  looking  over  the  gate,  the  seconds  de- 
clared that  honor  was  satisfied.  I  recommend,  there- 
fore, that  when  the  snake  has  effected  the  cure,  it  should 
not  be  bottled  and  buried,  but  should  be  put  back  into 
some  bank  or  hedgerow  to  carry  on  its  useful  war 
against  snails  and  slugs  and  worms. 

There  are  few  things  a  snake  has  not  been  found  at 
one  time  or  another  to  resemble,  and  there  is  nothing 
apparently  that  a  snake  is  not  able  to  do  —  except 
swallow  a  porcupine.  One  species,  a  native  of  Assam, 
is  in  itself  an  epitome  of  all  the  vices  ;  for  in  its  vindic- 
tive ferocit}'  it  not  only  stalks  its  pre}'  and  pounces  upon 
it,  but  chases  it  swiftl}',  and  tracks  it  like  a  bloodhound, 
relentlessly,  drives  it  up  trees,  and  climbs  after  it  like 
a  squirrel,  hunts  it  into  rivers,  and  dives  after  it  like  a 
seal,  gets  up  on  one  end  to  pick  it  off  a  perch,  or 
grovels  like  a  mole  after  it  if  it  tries  to  escape  by  tun- 
nelling in  the  earth.  So,  at  any  rate,  the  Assamese  say, 
and  their  word  is  as  good  as  that  of  the  Greeks  in  the 
matter  of  snakes.  What  awful  parallels  in  the  past, 
again,  can  be  found  in  Nature  adequate  to  the  tales  of 
terror  that  travellers  have  had  to  tell  of  the  python 
which  arrests  in  full  career  the  wind-footed  bison,  of  the 
boa-constrictor,  that  hurls  itself  from  overhanging  rocks 
and  trees  in  coils  of  dreadful  splendor  upon  even  the 
jaguar  and  the  puma,  of  the  anaconda,  the  superb  dic- 
tator of  the  Brazilian  forests  !  Do  the  hydras,  dragons, 
or  chimseras  of  antiquit}-  surpass  these  three  in  terrors? 
Nor  among  the  lesser  evils  of  the  serpent  folk  of  old, 
the  cockatrices,  basilisks,  and  asps,  do  we  find  any  to 


Some  Sea-Folk.  283 


surpass  our  own  life-shattering  worms,  the  cobra  or  the 
rattlesnake. 

The  snakes  of  antiquity,  it  is  true,  have  come  down 
to  us  dignified  and  made  terrible  by  the  honors  and 
fears  of  past  ages,  when  the  Eg\-ptians  and  the  Greeks 
bound  the  aspic  round  the  heads  of  their  idols  as  the 
most  regal  of  tiaras,  and  crowned  in  fancy  the  adder 
and  the  cerastes ;  when  nations  tenanted  their  sacred 
groves  with  even  more  sacred  serpents,  entrusted  to 
their  care  all  that  kings  held  most  precious  and  the 
gems  that  were  still  undug,  confided  the  diamond  mines 
to  one  and —  more  valued  then  than  diamonds  —  the 
carbuncle  to  another,  deifying  some  of  their  worms, 
and  giving  the  names  of  others  to  their  gods.  But  the 
actual  facts  known  to  science  of  modern  snakes,  the 
deadlier  sorts  of  the  ophidians,  invest  them  with  terrors 
equal  to  any  creatures  of  fable,  and  with  the  supersti- 
tious might  entitle  them  to  equal  honors  with  the  past 
objects  of  Ammonian  worship  and  still  the  reverence  of 
all  Asia,  the  central  figures  in  the  rites  of  Ops  or  Ther- 
muthis,  or  whatever  we  may  call  the  old  gods  now. 

Science  has  now  driven  out  Superstition,  planting  a 
more  beautiful  growth  of  beliefs  in  its  place,  and  of 
these  beliefs  Mr.  Ruskin  is  the  trustee  and  the  python, 
the  oracle,  the  artistic  Apollo. 

It  is  one  of  the  penalties  of  extended  empire  that 
frontiers  shall  be  constantly  vexed,  just  as  the  sea 
along  its  margin  is.  forever  astir.  But  it  is  seldom  that 
duties  as  a  Great  Power  bring  a  nation  into  reluctant 
collision  with  such  a  strange,  half-mythical  folk  as  the 
Nagas  of  the  northeastern  frontiers  of  India  with 
whom  the  English  have  periodically  to  fight.  The  Af- 


284  Unnatural  History. 

ghan  hills  were  picturesque  enough,  and  the  rolling 
grass  lands  of  Zululand  were  instinct  with  romance ; 
yet  neither  Afghan  nor  Zulu  can  claim  a  tithe  of  the 
superstitious  obscurity  of  the  dwellers  on  the  Naga 
hills,  or  affect  pretensions  to  half  their  traditions. 
Indeed,  what  people  on  earth  would  dare  to  measure 
pedigrees  with  the  snake-folk,  or  count  ancestors 
against  a  race  who  claim  to  have  a  lineal  descent  from 
before  the  creation  of  man  ? 

There  are  gaps,  it  is  true,  in  the  chain  that  would 
suffice  to  break  even  a  herald's  heart ;  but  what  else 
could  be  expected  in  the  family  trees  of  tribes  that 
were  old  wheu  the  children  of  the  Sun  and  the  Moon,  in 
the  first  generation,  found  them  possessing  the  earth? 
Their  progenitors  flourished  even  before  time  and 
space  had  established  their  empire,  and  they  count 
among  the  events  of  their  national  history  the  birth  of 
the  Creator. 

Before  history  commences,  and  when  gods  were  half 
men,  and  men  were  demigods,  the  Nagas  inhabited 
India.  They  were  contemporaries  of  the  pygmies  who 
fought  with  the  partridge-folk  for  possession  of  the 
Ganges'  banks ;  contemporaries  of  the  monkey  races 
that  furnished  long-tailed  contingents  to  the  conquering 
army  of  Rama,  and  gave  deities  to  India ;  contempo- 
raries of  Garud,  king  of  the  bird-gods. and  of  Indra  and 
Krishna,  and  all  the  meny-making  pantheon  of  Veclic 
Hindostan.  But  there  came  from  over  the  hill  passes 
on  the  northwest,  which  nowada}'s  men  call  the  Khyber 
and  the  Kurram,  nation  after  nation  of  Aryans,  who,  as 
moon-children  and  sun-children,  fell  upon  the  aborigi- 
nes, and  drove  them  from  ever}'  spot  worth  possessing. 

They  hunted  them  to  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  and 


Some  Sea-Folk.  285 


into  the  very  hearts  of  the  forests,  and,  adding  insult 
to  injury,  nicknamed  the  dispossessed  people  snakes, 
monkeys,  and  devils,  representing  them  in  their  history 
as  only  half  human,  and  thus  hoped,  no  doubt,  to  jus- 
tify their  ill-treatment  of  them.  Here  and  there  these 
aboriginal  tribes  are  still  to  be  found  in  fragments,  as 
primitive  to-day  as  they  were  when  first  the  Aryan  in- 
vaders pretended  to  mistake  them  for  wild  beasts  and 
vermin.  Thus,  in  the  northeastern  corner  of  India  are 
the  Nagas,  the  Snakes,  a  medley  of  small  tribes  without 
cohesion,  or  even  the  power  of  cohesion,  professing 
allegiance,  in  this  nineteenth  century  of  ours,  some  of 
them  to  potentates  long  ago  extinct,  others  to  the 
Empire  of  Burmah.  The  authorit}'  of  British  India  is, 
of  course,  gradually  becoming  familiar  to  them  and, 
very  gradually  also,  being  admitted ;  but  it  is  prob- 
able that  when  the  Afghan  hills  have  become  as  settled 
as  the  Punjab,  and  Zululand  as  commonplace  as  Natal, 
the  Nagas  will  still  be  found  cherishing  those  wild 
notions  of  aboriginal  independence  that  have  made  their 
reclamation  seem  so  hopeless. 

How  can  they  ever  consent  to  the  dry  formalities  of 
civilization  and  the  reign  of  law  so  long  as  they  believe 
that  Shesh,  the  great  serpent,  lies  coiled  under  their 
hills,  —  governing  the  upper  earth  through  his  snake- 
limbed  lieutenants,  and  recording  his  impressions  of 
terrestrial  affairs  by  the  lustre  of  a  great  gem,  the  kan- 
thi-stone,  which  he  has  erected  in  insolent  revenge  to 
light  up  his  subterranean  kingdom  when  he  was  driven 
from  the  sunlight  by  the  more  powerful  gods  of  the 
Aryans  ? 

This  Shesh  is  a  reptile  worthy  of  homage,  and  may  be 
accepted  without  hesitation  and  in  defiance  of  all  sea- 


286  Unnatural  History. 

serpents,  past  and  future,  as  the  greatest  snake  on  re- 
cord. When  Vishnu  and  the  gods  met  to  extort  from 
the  sea  the  ichor  of  immortality,  the}'  plucked  up  from 
the  Himalayan  range  the  biggest  mountain  in  it,  and 
this  they  made  their  churn,  while  round  it,  as  the 
strongest  tackle  they  could  think  of,  they  bound  the 
serpent  Shesh.  And  the  gods  took  hold  of  the  head 
and  the  devils  took  hold  of  the  tail,  and,  alternately  tug- 
ging, they  made  the  mountain  spin  round  and  round 
until  the  sea  was  churned  into  froth,  and  from  the  churn- 
ing came  up  all  the  treasures  of  the  deep,  "and  the  most 
precious  possessions  of  man,  and  last  of  all  immortality. 
The  gods  and  the  devils  scrambled  for  the  good  things, 
but  nothing  more  is  said  of  the  serpent  who  had  been 
so  useful,  nor  what  he  got  for  his  services.  Antiquaries 
in  the  West  incline  to  think  that  he  remained  in  the  sea 
and  became  the  kraken,  but  the  Nagas  believe  him  to  be 
still  under  their  hills,  dispensing  fate  by  the  light  of  a 
diamond.  When  this  misconception  is  removed  from 
their  minds  the  Nagas  may  be  able  to  remark  other 
errors  of  their  beliefs  and  ways  ;  but  meanwhile  they  are 
in  utter  heathendom,  and  as  delightfully  free  from  mis- 
givings with  regard  to  their  methods  of  asserting  their 
liberty  as  are  the  tigers,  rhinoceroses,  elephants,  buf- 
faloes, or  wild  pigs  that  share  their  beautiful  country 
with  them. 

While  disciplined  troops  were  being  equipped  with 
scientific  weapons,  and  the  machinery  of  a  great  gov- 
ernment was  slowly  set  in  motion,  the  naked  Nagas 
were  squatting  on  their  hillsides,  taking  augury  from 
the  flight  of  jungle-cocks.  The  British  soldiers  inarched 
as  military  science  dictated,  but  the  Nagas  shaped  their 
course  from  or  towards  us  at  the  dictation  of  their 


Some  Sea-Folk.  287 


omens  —  passing  deer  or  falling  reeds.  On  the  one  side 
there  were  Sniders  and  mountain  guns,  and  on  the  other 
spears  and  daos.  So  it  took  little  prophesying  to  fore- 
tell, that,  let  the  cocks  fly  as  they  would,  and  the  reeds 
fall  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  the  snake-men  had  a 
troubled  season  before  them,  and  Shesh  another  sad  ex- 
perience to  record  on  his  gem-lit  page. 

Much  has  been  written  and  said  about  the  amiable 
reptile  which  men  call  a  turtle ;  but  many,  I  regret  to 
say.  have  approached  the  subject  in  a  spirit  of  levity 
which  is  very  unbecoming.  To  be  flippant  about  turtles 
is  as  intolerable  as  if  one  were  to  be  frivolous  about 
aldermen. 

Even  in  his  native  waters  the  turtle  is  not  of  a  light- 
hearted  kind,  for  his  gestures  are  solemn  and  his  de- 
meanor circumspect.  His  spirits  never  rise  to  the 
frolicking  point.  In  captivity  the  creature  assumes  a 
sepulchral  deliberation  in  manner,  and  his  natural  so- 
briety deepens  at  times  into  positive  dejection.  He 
prowls  about  on  tip-toes  as  if  contemplating  a  bur- 
glar}-,  and  never  betrays  any  symptoms  of  alacrity  or 
enthusiasm. 

Death,  however,  gloriously  transfigures  the  turtle. 
The  poor,  moping  thing  which  when  alive  ate  even  grass 
apologetically,  which  seemed  always  pleading  for  for- 
bearance and  proclaiming  itself  humble,  is  at  once  can- 
onized b}-  the  simple  process  of  cooking.  The  despised 
worm  that  yesterday  nibbled  the  herbage  at  our  feet 
soars  to-day  a  butterfly  above  our  heads.  The  martyr 
has  become  a  saint.  Festivity  and  luxury  hasten  to 
greet  when  dead  the  creature  they  laughed  at  when 
living ;  and  the  modest  turtle  which  in  the  morning  was 


288  Unnatural  History. 

the  sport  of  children  is  in  the  evening  the  favorite  dish 
of  princes.  The  lesser  planets  of  the  culinary  firma- 
ment revolve  round  it  in  deferential  orbits,  confessing 
that  their  light  is  borrowed,  that  a  greater  attraction 
than  their  own  holds  the  guests  in  station  and  regulates 
the  festive  board.  Xo  wonder,  then,  that  the  East  be- 
lieves this  creature  is  an  embodiment  of  the  Divinity, 
and  that  the  world  rests  upon  a  tortoise  !  The  splendid 
significance  of  the  Vedic  legend  is  not  less  striking  than 
its  beaut}',  for  here  we  see  at  once  that  the  alderman 
keeps  up  the  price  of  turtle,  which  keeps  up  the  weight 
of  the  earth,  and  so  the  alderman  himself  becomes  an 
avatar  of  the  solar  myth.  Thus  does  history  work  in 
cycles  and  a  pagan  religion  stand  revealed. 

It  would  be  a  nice  point  to  decide  whether  the  alder- 
man was  created  for  the  turtle  or  the  turtle  for  the  alder- 
man. Much  is  to  be  said  on  both  sides.  It  is  difficult 
to  imagine  either  of  them  preceding  the  other  in  point  of 
time,  and  equally  difficult  to  consider  them  as  eternally 
eo-existent  in  point  of  space.  Yet  they  must  have  been 
both  contemporaiy  and  contiguous  from  the  beginning  of 
time,  or  else  we  are  confronted  with  the  preposterous 
problem  of  aldermen  apart  from  turtles.  Who  knows 
when  either  began  ;  or,  if  they  proceeded  from  matter  at 
different  spots  on  the  earth's  surface?  Who  can  tell  us 
what  natural  forces  first  brought  them  into  contact  ? 

For  myself  I  dare  not  trust  m}*  imagination  in  such 
depths  of  conjecture,  but  prefer,  more  comfortably,  to 
avoid  the  difficulty,  and  to  believe  that  aldermen  and 
turtles  were  simultaneous.  The  primitive  alderman,  it 
is  certain,  could  not  have  eaten  up  the  original  turtle,  or 
the  species  would  then  and  there,  in  that  one  disastrous 
meal,  have  become  extinct.  He  spared  it  until  it  laid 


Some  Sea-Folk.  289 


eggs,  and  then  he  ate  it.  When  he  died  he  bequeathed 
the  secret  to  his  son,  who,  becoming  an  alderman  in  due 
time,  ate  turtles  likewise,  and  so  on  to  the  present  day. 
The  civic  soup  may  therefore  be  added  to  the  many 
other  remarkable  survivals  of  instinct  in  a  species  long 
after  the  necessity  for  its  exercise  has  died  out. 

We,  for  instance,  see  the  pensive  bear  dancing  in 
public  places,  lifting  up  its  hind  feet  one  after  the  other 
in  mechanical  alternation,  and  holding  its  fore  paws  off 
the  ground  altogether,  and  we  forget  perhaps  at  first 
why  it  does  so.  The  truth  is  that  dancing  is  associated 
in  Bruin's  memory  with  the  hot  plates  on  which  he  was 
taught  to  dance,  and  no  sooner  therefore  does  he  hear 
the  tune  played  which  once  was  the  signal  for  the  fire  to 
be  lit  beneath  him,  than  by  instinct  he  gets  up  on  his 
hi«d  legs  and  keeps  moving  them  one  after  the  other  off 
the  surface  which  he  still  imagines  is  being  heated.  It 
does  not  matter  to  him  that  neither  the  country  green 
nor  the  provincial  market-place  is  fitted  up  with  ovens 
for  baking  bears,  for  the  original  association  of  a  certain 
tune  with  certain  hot  sensations  on  the  soles  of  his  feet 
is  too  strong  for  him,  and  he  proceeds  to  dance.  In  the 
same  way  the  alderman,  feeling  hungry,  looks  round  for 
a  turtle.  It  is  not  because  this  excellent  reptile  is  the 
only  edible  thing  obtainable,  but  because  hunger,  an  in- 
herited sensation,  is  associated  in  his  mind  by  indis- 
soluble bonds  of  memory  with  turtle  fat. 

Once  upon  a  time,  in  the  age  of  Diluvia  and  Catas- 
trophe, the  primeval  alderman,  being  unclothed,  fled  the 
vertical  rays  of  the  sun,  and,  seeking  shelter  in  the 
umbrageous  swamp,  saw  there  the  pristine  turtle.  Sit- 
ting aloof  he  watched  the  creature  crawling  painfully 
about,  and  noted  that  it  was  a  thing  of  inconsiderable 

19 


290  Unnatural  History. 

agility,  and  suitable,  therefore,  to  be  a  easy  prey.  Be- 
ing himself  of  aldermanic  proportions,  he  was  averse  to 
arduous  exercise ;  so  he  surveyed  the  turtle,  pleased. 
Anon  he  grew  hungry,  and  hunger  arousing  him  to 
comparative  activity,  he  circumvented  the  unsuspecting 
turtle,  that  is  to  say,  he  got  between  it  and  the  water, 
and  soon  made  a  prisoner  of  the  slowly  moving  thing. 
Examination  increased  his  satisfaction,  for  he  found  the 
turtle  carried  its  own  soup  tureen  on  its  back,  and  there 
and  then,  gathering  in  his  simple  wa3*  a  few  sticks  from 
the  adjoining  brake,  this  primeval  alderman  enjoyed  the 
delights  of  green-fat  soup,  —  calling  it,  in  his  barbarous 
but  expressive  dialect,  callipee,  and  the  outer  integu- 
ments of  more  solid  meat  which  he  found  upon  the 
stomach,  callipash.  So  ever  afterwards  when  he  felt 
hungry,  and  too  lazy  to  pick  acorns,  he  circumvented  a 
turtle. 

Since  then,  of  course,  many  years  have  past.  Alder- 
men now  wear  clothes,  and  need  not  go  about  catching 
their  meals,  and  the  umbrageous  swamps  of  a  tertiary 
Britain  are  now  the  site  of  the  city  of  London  ;  but  the 
old  instinct,  as  we  perceive,  still  survives,  and  the  hun- 
gry alderman  always  calls  for  turtle. 

Nor  could  the  civic  magnate  do  better.  Some  viands 
that  have  long  been  traditional  for  their  excellence  have 
ceased  to  be  paraded  on  high  days,  and,  to  omit  the 
more  recondite,  I  need  only  cite  the  swan,  once  the 
dish  of  honor  at  every  public  feast ;  the  hog  barbecued  ; 
the  ox  roasted  whole  ;  the  peacock  garnished  with  his 
tail  and  russet  pippins  ;  the  sturgeon  and  the  stuffed 
pike  ;  the  bedizened  boar's  head.  Each  had  conspicu- 
ous merits,  and  there  are  still  those  who  maintain  that 
the  new  meats  cannot  compare  with  the  old.  Let  this 


Some  Sea-Folk.  291 


be  as  it  may,  the  turtle  need  never  fear  rivalry,  and  the 
alderman  need  never  dread  its  extinction.  In  the  seas 
of  Florida  alone  it  swarms  in  such  prodigious  quantity 
that  well-authenticated  cases  are  on  record  of  small  craft 
having  to  heave  to  until  a  shoal  had  passed,  while  in  the 
remoter  corners  of  the  earth  it  still  luxuriates  in  all  its 
pristine  multitudes,  unthiuned  by  capture  and  unmo- 
lested by  man. 

So  long,  therefore,  as  the  alderman  will  remain  con- 
stant to  his  soup,  his  soup  will  never  desert  him. 

It  is  touching  but  strange  that  two  species  so  widely 
separated,  or,  at  any  rate,  so  distantly  connected  as  the 
common  councilman  and  the  common  turtle,  should 
display  this  mutual  sj'mpathy. 

The  latter  is  rather  an  ungainly  animal,  full  in  the 
stomach  and  short-legged,  moving  on  rough  ground 
with  great  difficulty.  It  is  described  in  works  on  natural 
history,  as  having  a  short  round  snout,  a  wide  mouth, 
and  a  body  very  wide  across  the  shoulders.  It  is 
further  described  as  being  very  voracious.  Yet  there 
is  nothing  in  these  traits  of  person  and  character  to 
detract  from  its  estimable  properties  as  an  article  of 
diet ;  and  so  long  as  it  continues  to  secrete  green  fat, 
aldermen  should  not  quarrel  with  the  turtle  either  for 
the  shortness  of  its  legs  or  the  rotundity  of  its  body  or 
the  gluttony  of  its  appetite. 


PART    IV. 


PART   IV. 
IDLE   HOURS  UNDER  THE  PUNKAH. 

I. 

THE  MAN-EATING  TREE.1 

PEREGRINE  ORIEL,  my  maternal  uncle,  was  a 
great  traveller,  as  his  prophetical  sponsors  at  the 
font  seemed  to  have  guessed  he  would  be.  Indeed  he 
had  rummaged  in  the  garrets  and  cellars  of  the  earth 
with  something  more  than  ordinary  diligence.  But  in 
the  narrative  of  his  travels  he  did  not,  unfortunately, 

1  Before  committing  this  paper  to  the  ridicule  of  the  Great 
Mediocre  —  for  many,  I  fear,  will  be  inclined  to  regard  this  story 
as  incredible  —  I  would  venture  on  the  expression  of  an  opinion 
regarding  credulity,  which  I  do  not  remember  to  have  met  before. 
It  is  this.  Placing  supreme  Wisdom  and  supreme  Unwisdom  at 
the  two  extremes,  and  myself  in  the  exact  mean  between  them,  I 
am  surprised  to  find  that,  whether  I  travel  towards  the  one  ex- 
treme or  the  other,  the  credulity  of  those  I  meet  increases.  To 
put  it  as  a  paradox  —  whether  a  man  be  Joolisher  or  wiser  than  lam,  he  is 
more  credulous.  I  make  this  remark  to  point  out  to  those  of  the 
Great  Mediocre,  whose  notice  it  may  have  escaped,  that  credulity 
is  not  of  itself  shameful  or  contemptible,  and  that  it  depends  upon 
the  manner  rather  than  the  matter  of  their  belief,  whether  they 
gravitate  towards  the  sage  or  the  reverse  way.  According,  there- 
fore, to  the  incredibility  found  in  the  following,  the  reader  may 
measure,  as  pleases  him,  his  wisdom  or  his  unwisdom. 


296  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

preserve  the  judicious  caution  of  Xenophon  between 
the  thing  seen  and  the  thing  heard,  and  thus  it  came 
about  that  the  town-councillors  of  Brunsbiittel  (to  whom 
he  had  shown  a  duck-billed  platypus,  caught  alive  by 
him  in  Australia,  and  who  had  him  posted  for  an  im- 
porter of  artificial  vermin)  were  not  alone  in  their  scep- 
ticism of  some  of  the  old  man's  tales. 

Thus,  for  instance,  who  could  hear  and  believe  the 
tale  of  the  man-sucking  tree  from  which  he  had  barely 
escaped  with  life?  He  called  it  himself  more  terrible 
than  the  Upas.  "This  awful  plant,  that  rears  its 
splendid  death-shade  in  the  central  solitude  of  a  Nubian 
fern  forest,  sickens  by  its  unwholesome  humors  all 
vegetation  from  its  immediate  vicinity,  and  feeds  upon 
the  wild  beasts  that,  in  the  terror  of  the  chase,  or  the 
heat  of  noon,  seek  the  thick  shelter  of  its  boughs  ;  upon 
the  birds  that,  flitting  across  the  open  space,  come 
within  the  charmed  circle  of  its  power,  or  innocently 
refresh  themselves  from  the  cups  of  its  great  waxen 
flowers ;  upon  even  man  himself  when,  an  infrequent 
prey,  the  savage  seeks  its  asj'lum  in  the  storm,  or  turns 
from  the  harsh  foot-wounding  sword-grass  of  the  glade, 
to  pluck  the  wondrous  fruit  that  hang  plumb  down  among 
th»  wondrous  foliage."  And  such  fruit!  —  "glorious 
golden  ovals,  great  honey  drops,  swelling  by  their  own 
weight  into  pear-shaped  translucencies.  The  foliage 
glistens  with  a  strange  dew,  that  all  day  long  drips 
on  to  the  ground  below,  nurturing  a  rank  growth  of 
grasses,  which  shoot  up  in  places  so  high  that  their 
spikes  of  fierce  blood-fed  green  show  far  up  among  the 
deep-tinted  foliage  of  the  terrible  tree,  and,  like  a  jealous 
bod3~-guard,  keep  concealed  the  fearful  secret  of  the 
charnel-house  within,  and  draw  round  the  black  roots 


The  Man-Eating  Tree.  297 

of  the  murderous  plant  a  decent  screen  of  living 
green." 

Such  was  his  description  of  the  plant ;  and  the  other 
day,  looking  it  up  in  a  botanical:  dictionary,  I  find  that 
there  is  really  known  to  naturalists  a  family  of  carniv- 
orous plants  ;  but  I  see  that  they  are  most  of  them  very 
small,  and  prey  upon  little  insects  only.  My  maternal 
uncle,  however,  knew  nothing  of  this,  for  he  died  before 
the  days  of  the  discovery  of  the  sun,  dew,  and  pitcher 
plants  ;  and  grounding  his  knowledge  of  the  man-suck- 
ing tree  simply  on  his  own  terrible  experience  of  it, 
explained  its  existence  by  theories  of  his  own.  Deny- 
ing the  fixity  of  all  the  laws  of  nature  except  one,  that 
the  stronger  shall  endeavor  to  consume  the  weaker,  and 
holding  even  this  fixity  to  be  itself  only  a  means  to  a 
greater  general  changefulness,  he  argued  that  —  since 
any  partial  distribution  of  the  faculty  of  self-defence 
would  presume  an  unworthy  partiality  in  the  Creator, 
and  since  the  sensual  instincts  of  beast  and  vegetable 
are  manifestly  analogous  —  the  world  must  be  as  per- 
cipient as  sentient  throughout.  Carrying  on  his  theory 
(for  it  was  something  more  than  hypothesis  with  him) 
a  stage  or  two  further,  he  arrived  at  the  belief  that, 
given  the  necessity  of  any  imminent  danger  or  urgent 
self-interest,  every  animal  or  vegetable  could  event- 
ually revolutionize  its  nature,  the  wolf  feeding  on  grass 
or  nesting  in  trees,  and  the  violet  arming  herself  with 
thorns  or  entrapping  insects. 

"How,"  he  would  ask,  "can  we  claim  for  man  the 
consequence  of  perceptions  to  sensations,  and  yet  deny 
to  beasts  that  hear,  see,  feel,  smell,  and  taste,  a  perci- 
pient principle  co-existent  with  their  senses?  And  if 
in  the  whole  range  of  the  animate  world  there  is  this 


298  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

gift  of  self-defence  against  extirpation,  and  offence 
against  weakness,  why  is  the  inanimate  world,  hold- 
ing as  fierce  a  struggle  for  existence  as  the  other,  to  be 
left  defenceless  and  unarmed?  And  I  den}'  that  it  is. 
The  Brazilian  epiphyte  strangles  the  tree  and  sucks  out 
its  juices.  The  tree,  again,  to  starve  off  its  vampire 
parasite,  withdraws  its  juices  into  its  roots,  and  pierc- 
ing the  ground  in  some  new  place,  turns  the  current  of 
its  sap  into  other  growths.  The  epiphyte  then  drops 
off  the  dead  boughs  on  to  the  fresh  green  sprouts 
springing  from  the  ground  beneath  it,  —  and  so  the 
fight  goes  on.  Again,  look  at  the  Indian  peepul  tree  ; 
in  what  does  the  fierce  yearning  of  its  roots  towards  the 
distant  well  differ  from  the  sad  struggling  of  the  camel 
to  the  oasis,  or  of  Sennacherib's  army  to  the  saving 
Nile? 

"  Is  the  sensitive  plant  unconscious  !  I  have  walked 
for  miles  through  plains  of  it,  and  watched,  till  the 
watching  almost  made  me  afraid  lest  the  plant  should 
pluck  up  courage  and  turn  upon  me,  the  green  carpet 
paling  into  silver  gray  before  my  feet,  and  fainting  away 
all  round  me  as  I  walked.  So  strangeby  did  I  feel 
the  influence  of  this  universal  aversion,  that  I  would 
have  argued  with  the  plant ;  but  what  was  the  use  ?  If 
only  I  stretched  out  my  hands,  the  mere  shadow  of  the 
limb  terrified  the  vegetable  to  sickness ;  shrubs  crum- 
bled up  at  every  commencement  of  m}-  speech  ;  and  at 
my  periods  great  sturdy-looking  bushes,  to  whose 
robustness  I  had  foolishly  appealed,  sank  in  pallid  sup- 
plication. Not  a  leaf  would  keep  me  compan}*.  A 
breath  went  forth  from  me  that  sickened  life.  My  mere 
presence  paralyzed  life,  and  I  was  glad  at  last  to  come 
out  among  a  less  timid  vegetation,  and  to  feel  the 


The  Man-Eating  Tree.  299 

resentful  spear-grass  retaliating  on  the  heedlessness 
that  would  have  crushed  it.  The  vegetable  world, 
however,  has  its  revenges.  You  may  keep  the  guinea- 
pig  in  a  hutch,  but  how  will  3-011  pet  the  basilisk?  The 
little  sensitive  plant  in  your  garden  amuses  }'our  chil- 
dren (who  will  find  pleasure  also  in  seeing  cockchafers 
spin  round  on  a  pin),  but  how  could  you  transplant  a 
vegetable  that  seizes  the  running  deer,  strikes  down  the 
passing  bird,  and  once  taking  hold  of  him,  sucks  the 
carcass  of  man  himself,  till  his  matter  becomes  as  vague 
as  his  mind,  and  all  his  animate  capabilities  cannot 
snatch  him  from  the  terrible  embrace  of — God  help 
him  !  —  an  inanimate  tree  ? 

"Man}'  years  ago,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  turned  my 
restless  steps  towards  Central  Africa,  and  made  the 
journey  from  where  the  Senegal  empties  itself  into  the 
Atlantic  to  the  Nile,  skirting  the  Great  Desert,  and 
reaching  Nubia  on  my  way  to  the  eastern  coast.  I  had 
with  me  then  three  native  attendants,  —  two  of  them 
brothers,  the  third,  Otona,  a  young  savage  from  the 
gaboon  uplands,  a  mere  lad  in  his  teens ;  and  one 
day,  leaving  my  mule  with  the  two  men,  who  were 
pitching  my  tent  for  the  night,  I  went  on  with  my  gun, 
the  boy  accompanying  me,  towards  a  fern  forest,  which 
I  saw  in  the  near  distance.  As  I  approached  it  I  found 
the  forest  was  cut  into  two  by  a  wide  glade  ;  and  seeing  a 
small  herd  of  the  common  antelope,  an  excellent  beast 
in  the  pot,  browsing  their  way  along  the  shaded  side,  I 
crept  after  them.  Though  ignorant  of  their  real  dan- 
ger the  herd  was  suspicious,  and,  slowly  trotting  along 
before  me,  enticed  me  for  a  mile  or  more  along  the 
verge  of  the  fern  growths.  Turning  a  corner  I  sud- 
denly became  aware  of  a  solitary  tree  growing  in  the 


300  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

middle  of  the  glade  —  one  tree  alone.  It  struck  me  at 
once  that  I  had  never  seen  a  tree  exactly  like  it  before  ; 
but,  being  intent  upon  venison  for  my  supper,  I  looked 
at  it  only  long  enough  to  satisfy  my  first  surprise  at 
seeing  a  single  plant  of  such  rich  growth  flourishing 
luxuriantly  in  a  spot  where  only  the  harsh  fern-canes 
seemed  to  thrive. 

"  The  deer  meanwhile  were  midway  between  me  and 
the  tree,  and  looking  at  them  I  saw  they  were  going  to 
cross  the  glade.  Exactly  opposite  them  was  an  opening 
in  the  forest,  in  which  I  should  certainly  have  lost  my 
supper ;  so  I  fired  into  the  middle  of  the  family  as  they 
were  filing  before  me.  I  hit  a  young  fawn,  and  the  rest 
of  the  herd,  wheeling  round  in  their  sudden  terror, 
made  off  in  the  direction  of  the  tree,  leaving  the  fawn 
struggling  on  the  ground.  Otona,  the  boy,  ran  forward 
at  my  order  to  secure  it,  but  the  little  creature  seeing 
him  coming,  attempted  to  follow  its  comrades,  and  at  a 
fair  pace  held  on  their  course.  The  herd  had  mean- 
while reached  the  tree,  but  suddenly,  instead  of  passing 
under  it,  swerved  in  their  career,  and  swept  round  it  at 
some  yards  distance. 

"  Was  I  mad,  or  did  the  plant  really  try  to  catch  the 
deer  ?  On  a  sudden  I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  the  tree 
violently  agitated,  and  while  the  ferns  all  round  were 
standing  motionless  in  the  dead  evening  air,  its  boughs 
were  swaj'ed  by  some  sudden  gust  towards  the  herd, 
and  swept,  in  the  force  of  their  impulse,  almost  to  the 
ground.  I  drew  my  hand  across  my  eyes,  closed  them 
for  a  moment,  and  looked  again.  The  tree  was  as 
motionless  as  myself! 

"  Towards  it,  and  now  close  to  it,  the  boy  was  run- 
ning in  excited  pursuit  of  the  fawn.  He  stretched  out 


The  Man-Eating  Tree.  301 

his  hands  to  catch  it.  It  bounded  from  his  eager  grasp. 
Again  he  reached  forward,  and  again  it  escaped  him. 
There  was  another  rush  forward,  and  the  next  instant 
bo}'  and  deer  were  beneath  the  tree. 

"  And  now  there  was  no  mistaking  what  I  saw. 

"  The  tree  was  convulsed  with  motion,  leaned  for- 
ward, swept  its  thick  foliaged  boughs  to  the  ground,  and 
enveloped  from  my  sight  the  pursuer  and  the  pursued ; 
I  was  within  a  hundred  }*ards,  and  the  cry  of  Otona 
from  the  midst  of  the  tree  came  to  me  in  all  the  clear- 
ness of  its  agon}*.  There  was  then  one  stifled,  strang- 
ling scream,  and  except  for  the  agitation  of  the  leaves 
where  they  had  closed  upon  the  boy,  there  was  not  a 
sign  of  life ! 

"  I  called  out  '  Otona  ! '  No  answer  came.  I  tried 
to  call  out  again,  but  my  utterance  was  like  that  of  some 
wild  beast  smitten  at  once  with  sudden  terror  and  its 
death  wound.  I  stood  there,  changed  from  all  sem- 
blance of  a  human  being.  Not  all  the  terrors  of  earth 
together  could  have  made  me  take  my  eye  from  the 
awful  plant,  or  my  foot  off  the  ground.  I  must  have  stood 
thus  for  at  least  an  hour,  for  the  shadows  had  crept  out 
from  the  forest  half  across  the  glade  before  that  hideous 
paroxysm  of  fear  left  me.  My  first  impulse  then  was 
to  creep  stealthily  away  lest  the  tree  should  perceive 
me,  but  my  returning  reason  bade  me  approach  it.  The 
boy  might  have  fallen  into  the  lair  of  some  beast  of 
prey,  or  perhaps  the  terrible  life  in  the  tree  was  that  of 
some  great  serpent  among  its  branches.  Preparing  to 
defend  myself  I  approached  the  silent  tree,  —  the  harsh 
grass  crisping  beneath  my  feet  with  a  strange  loudness, 
the  cicadas  in  the  forest  shrilling  till  the  air  seemed 
throbbing  round  me  with  waves  of  sound.  The  terrible 
truth  was  soon  before  me  in  all  its  awful  novelty. 


302  Idle  Hours  under  the  PankaTi. 

"  The  vegetable  first  discovered  my  presence  at  about 
fifty  yards  distance.  I  then  became  aware  of  a  stealthy 
motion  among  the  thick-lipped  leaves,  reminding  me  of 
some  wild  beast  slow!}'  gathering  itself  up  from  long 
sleep,  a  vast  coil  of  snakes  in  restless  motion.  Have 
you  ever  seen  bees  hanging  from  a  bough  —  a  great 
cluster  of  bodies,  bee  clinging  to  bee  —  and  by  striking 
the  bough,  or  agitating  the  air,  caused  that  massed  life 
to  begin  sulkily  to  disintegrate,  each  insect  asserting  its 
individual  right  ta  move  ?  And  do  yon  remember  how 
without  one  bee  leaving  the  pensile  cluster,  the  whole 
became  gradually  instinct  with  sullen  life  and  horrid 
with  a  multitudinous  motion? 

"  I  came  within  twenty  yards  of  it.  The  tree  was 
quivering  through  every  branch,  muttering  for  blood, 
and,  helpless  with  rooted  feet,  yearning  with  every 
branch  towards  me.  It  was  that  terror  of  the  deep  sea 
which  the  men  of  the  northern  fiords  dread,  and  which, 
anchored  upon  some  sunken  rock,  stretches  into  vain 
space  its  longing  arms,  pellucid  as  the  sea  itself,  and 
as  relentless  —  maimed  Potypheme  groping  for  his 
victims. 

"  Each  separate  leaf  was  agitated  and  hungry.  Like 
hands  they  fumbled  together,  their  fleshy  palms  curling 
upon  themselves  and  again  unfolding,  closing  on  each 
other  and  falling  apart  again, — thick,  helpless,  finger- 
less  hands  (rather  lips  or  tongues  than  hands)  dimpled 
closely  with  little  cup-like  hollows.  I  approached  nearer 
and  nearer,  step  by  step,  till  I  saw  that  these  soft  hor- 
rors were  all  of  them  in  motion,  opening  and  closing 
incessantly. 

"  I  was  now  within  ten  3'ards  of  the  farthest  reaching 
bough.  Every  part  of  it  was  hj^sterical  with  excitement. 


The  Man-Eating  Tree.  303 

The  agitation  of  its  members  was  awful  —  sickening  yet 
fascinating.  In  an  ecstasy  of  eagerness  for  the  food  so 
near  them,  the  leaves  turned  upon  each  other.  Two 
meeting  would  suck  together  face  to  face,  with  a  force 
that  compressed  their  joint  thickness  to  a  half,  thinning 
the  two  leaves  into  one,  now  grappling  in  a  volute  like 
a  double  shell,  writhing  like  some  green  worm,  and 
at  last,  faint  with  the  violence  of  the  parc^sm,  would 
slowly  separate,  falling  apart  as  leeches  gorged  drop  oif 
the  limbs.  A  sticky  dew  glistened  in  the  dimples, 
welled  over,  and  trickled  down  the  leaf.  The  sound  of 
it  dripping  from  leaf  to  leaf  made  it  seem  as  if  the  tree 
was  muttering  to  itself.  The  beautiful  golden  fruit  as 
they  swung  here  and  there  were  clutched  now  by  one 
leaf  and  now  by  another,  held  for  a  moment  close  en- 
folded from  the  sight,  and  then  as  suddenly  released. 
Here  a  large  leaf,  vampire-like,  had  sucked  out  the  juices 
of  a  smaller  one.  It  hung  limp  and  bloodless,  like  a 
carcass  of  which  the  weasel  has  tired. 

"  I  watched  the  terrible  struggle  till  my  starting  eyes, 
strained  by  intense  attention,  refused  their  office,  and 
I  can  hardly  say  what  I  saw.  But  the  tree  before  me 
seemed  to  have  become  a  live  beast.  Above  me  I  felt 
conscious  was  a  great  limb,  and  each  of  its  thousand 
clammy  hands  reached  downwards  towards  me,  fumb- 
ling. It  strained,  shivered,  rocked,  and  heaved.  It 
flung  itself  about  in  despair.  The  boughs,  tantalized  to 
madness  with  the  presence  of  flesh,  were  tossed  to  this 
side  and  to  that,  in  the  agon}*  of  a  frantic  desire.  The 
leaves  were  wrung  together  as  the  hands  of  one  driven 
to  madness  by  sudden  misery.  I  felt  the  vile  dew  spurt- 
ing from  the  tense  veins  fall  upon  me.  My  clothes  be- 
gan to  give  out  a  strange  odor.  The  ground  I  stood  on 
glistened  with  animal  juices. 


304  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

"Was  I  bewildered  by  terror?  Had  my  senses 
abandoned  me  in  my  need  ?  I  know  not  —  but  the  tree 
seemed  to  me1  to  be  alive.  Leaning  over  towards  me, 
it  seemed  to  be  pulling  up  its  roots  from  the  softened 
ground,  and  to  be  moving  towards  me.  A  mountain- 
ous monster,  with  myriad  lips,  mumbling  together  for 
my  life,  was  upon  me  ! 

"  Like  one  who  desperately  defends  himself  from 
imminent  death,  I  made  an  effort  for  life,  and  fired  my 
gun  at  the  approaching  horror.  To  my  dizzied  senses 
the  sound  seemed  far  off,  but  the  shock  of  the  recoil 
partially  recalled  me  to  myself,  and  starting  back  I  re- 
loaded. The  shot  had  torn  their  way  into  the  soft 
body  of  the  great  thing.  The  trunk  as  it  received  the 
wound  shuddered,  and  the  whole  tree  was  struck  with  a 
sudden  quiver.  A  fruit  fell  down  —  slipping  from  the 
leaves,  now  rigid  with  swollen  veins,  as  from  carven 
foliage.  Then  I  saw  a  large  arm  slowly  droop,  and 
without  a  sound  it  was  severed  from  the  juice-fattened 
-  bole,  and  sank  down  softly,  noiselessly,  through  the 
glistening  leaves.  I  fired  again,  and  another  vile  frag- 
ment was  powerless  —  dead.  At  each  discharge  the 
terrible  vegetable  yielded  a  life.  Piecemeal  I  attacked 
it,  killing  here  a  leaf  and  there  a  branch.  My  fury  in- 
creased with  the  slaughter  till,  when  my  ammunition 
was  exhausted,  the  splendid  giant  was  left  a  wreck  — 
as  if  some  hurricane  had  torn  through  it.  On  the 
ground  lay  heaped  together  the  fragments,  struggling, 
rising  and  falling,  gasping.  Over  them  drooped  in 
dying  languor  a  few  stricken  boughs,  while  upright  in 
the  midst  stood,  dripping  at  every  joint,  the  glistening 
trunk. 

' '  My  continued  firing  had  brought  up  one  of  my  men 


The  Man-Eating  Tree.  305 

on  my  mule.  He  dared  not,  so  he  told  me,  come  near 
me,  thinking  me  mad.  I  had  now  drawn  my  hunting- 
knife,  and  with  this  was  fighting — with  the  leaves. 
Yes  —  but  each  leaf  was  instinct  with  a  horrid  life  ;  and 
more  than  once  I  felt  my  hand  entangled  for  a  moment 
and  seized  as  if  by  sharp  lips.  Ignorant  of  the  pres- 
ence of  my  companion  I  made  a  rush  forward  over  the 
fallen  foliage,  and  with  a  last  paroxysm  of  frenzy  drove 
my  knife  up  to  the  handle  into  the  soft  bole,  and,  slip- 
ping on  the  fast  congealing  sap,  fell  exhausted  and  un- 
conscious, among  the-  still  panting  leaves. 

"  My  companions  carried  me  back  to  the  camp,  and 
after  vainly  searching  for  Otona  awaited  my  return  to 
consciousness.  Two  or  three  hours  elapsed  before  I 
could  speak,  and  several  days  before  I  could  approach 
the  terrible  thing.  My  men  would  not  go  near  it.  It 
was  quite  dead ;  for  as  we  came  up  a  great-billed  bird 
with  gaudy  plumage  that  had  been  securely  feasting  on 
the  decaying  fruit,  flew  up  from  the  wreck.  We  re- 
moved the  rotting  foliage,  and  there  among  the  dead 
leaves  still  limp  with  juices,  and  piled  round  the  roots, 
we  found  the  ghastly  relics  of  many  former  meals,  and 
—  its  last  nourishment  —  the  corpse  of  little  Otona, 
To  have  removed  the  leaves  would  have  taken  too  long, 
so  we  buried  the  body  as  it  was  with  a  hundred  vampire 
leaves  still  clinging  to  it." 

Such,  as  nearly  as  I  remember  it,  was  my  uncle's 
story  of  the  man-eating  tree. 


20 


306  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 


II. 

EASTERN  SMELLS  AND   WESTERN  NOSES. 

IN  his  essay  showing  that  a  certain  nation  —  contrary 
to  the  generally  applauded  notion — "do  not 
stink,"  Sir  Thomas  Browne  uses  with  effect  the  argu- 
ment that  a  mixed  race  cannot  have  a  national  smell. 
Among  a  mongrel  people  he  contends  no  odor  could  be 
gentilitious ;  yet  he  nowhere  denies  the  possibility,  or 
even  impugns  the  probability,  of  a  pure  people  having 
a  popular  smell,  a  scent  in  which  the  public  should 
share  alike,  an  aroma  as  much  common  property  as  the 
National  Anthem,  a  joint-stock  fragrance,  a  common- 
wealth of  odor,  —  a  perfume  with  which  no  single  in- 
dividual could  selfishly  withdraw,  saying,  "This  is  my 
own,  my  proper  and  peculiar  flavor,  and  no  man  may  cry 
me  halves  in  it,"  as  Alexander  or  Mahomet  might  have 
done,  who,  unless  history  lies,  were  divineby  scented. 
Not  that  individual  odors,  as  distinct  from  those  of  the 
species,  have  been  uncommon  in  any  times.  Many 
instances  may  be  found,  if  examples  were  required,  to 
support  "  a  postulate  which  has  ever  found  unqualified 
assent." 

"  For  well  I  know,  "  cries  Don  Quixote,  "  the  scent 
of  that  lovely  rose  !  and  tell  me,  Sancho,  when  near  her, 
thou  must  have  perceived  a  Sabean  odor,  an  aromatic 
fragrance,  a  something  sweet  for  which  I  cannot  find  a 
name,  —  a  scent,  a  perfume,  as  if  thou  wert  in  the  shop 
of  some  curious  glover." 


Eastern  Smells  and  Western  Noses.  307 

"  All  I  can  say  is,"  quoth  Sancko,  "  that  I  perceived 
somewhat  of  a  strong  sinell." 

It  would,  however,  be  pure  knavery  to  argue  from  the 
particular  fragrance  of  Don  Quixote's  lady  that  all  the 
dames  of  La  Mancha  could  appeal  to  the  affections 
through  the  nose.  Equally  dishonest  would  it  be  to 
disperse  Alexander's  scent  over  all  Macedon,  or  with  a 
high  hand  conclude  that  all  Romans  were  "  as  unsa- 
vory as  Bassa."  On  the  other  hand,  to  argue,  from  the 
existence  of  a  scentless  individual,  the  innocence  of  his 
brethren,  is  to  suppose  that  all  violets  are  dog-violets, 
or  that  the  presence  of  a  snowdrop  deodorizes  the 
guilt}-  garlic :  whereas,  in  fact,  the  existence  of  such  an 
individual  enhances  the  universal  fragrance ;  as  Kalid- 
asa  sa}-s,  "one  speck  of  black  shows  more  gloriously 
bright  the  skin  of  Siva's  bull."  If  a  number  of  units 
produce  an  aroma,  it  will  be  hard  to  believe  that  each  is 
individually  inodorous,  in  which  argument  from  proba- 
bilities I  have  to  a  certain  degree  the  countenance  of 
the  Pundits  in  their  maxim  of  the  Stick  and  the  Cake. 
What  is  more  to  the  point,  we  have  on  the  globe  at 
least  one  fragrant  people,  for  (leaving  Greenlanders  out 
of  the  question)  no  one  denies  that  Africans  are  aroma- 
tic. This  is  no  novel  suggestion,  but  an  old  antiquity ; 
it  is  a  point  of  high  prescription,  and  a  fact  univer- 
sally smelt  out.  If,  therefore,  one  nation  can  indispu- 
tably claim  a  general  odor,  it  is  possible  another  may  ; 
and  much  may  be  found  to  support  any  one  who  will 
soy  that  in  this  direction  "warm  India's  supple-bodied 
sons "  may  claim  equality  of  natural  adornment  with 
"  the  musky  daughter  of  the  Nile."  If  it  were  not  for 
the  blubber-feeding  Greenlanders,  I  might  contend  that 
"  it  is  all  the  fault  of  that  confounded  sun,"  for  heat  ex- 


308  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

presses  odor  elsewhere  than  in  Asia  and  Africa,  and  I 
can  keep  within  "  Trismegistus  his  circle"  and  "  need 
not  to  pitch  beyond  ubiquity "  when  I  cite  Pandemo- 
nium as  an  instance  of  unit}-  of  smell  in  a  large  popula- 
tion. We  read  in  Bj-ron's  "  Vision  of  Judgment"  that 
at  the  sound  of  P3-e's  heroics  the  whole  assembly 
sprang  off  with  a  melodious  twang  and  a  variet}-  of 
scents,  some  sulphureous,  some  ambrosial ;  and  that  the 
sulphureous  individuals  all  fled  one  way  gibbering  to 
their  own  dominions,  that  odorous  principality  of  the 
damned  whither  in  old  times  the  handsome  minstrel 
went  in  quest  of  his  wife.  That  the  infernal  fraternity 
is  uni-odorous  we  know,  on  the  authority  of  the  immor- 
tal Manchegan  Squire,  who  says:  "This  devil  is  as 
plump  as  a  partridge,  and  has  another  property  very 
different  from  what  you  devils  are  wont  to  have,  for  it 
is  said  they  all  smell  of  brimstone,"  that  is,  like  the 
Vienna  matches  —  ohne  phosphor-geruch  —  that  Wendell 
Holmes  hates  so  honestly. 

To  return  to  India,  it  is  very  certain  that  a  single 
Hindoo  is  not  always  perceptibly  fragrant ;  }-et  it  is 
equally  certain  that  if,  when  a  dozen  are  together,  an 
average  be  struck,  each  individual  of  the  party  must  be 
credited  with  a  considerable  amount.  In  am-  gathering 
of  Orientals  the  Western  stranger  is  instantly  aware  of 
a  circumambient  aroma  ;  he  becomes  conscious  of  a  new 
and  powerful  perfume,  —  a  curious  je  ne  sais  quoi  scent 
which  ma}'  possibly,  like  attar  of  roses,  require  only 
endless  dilution  and  an  acquired  taste  to  become  pleas- 
ant, but  which  certainly  requires  dilution  for  the  novice. 
No  particular  person  or  member  of  the  public  seems  to 
be  odorous  beyond  his  fellows,  but  put  three  together, 
and  they  might  be  300.  Perhaps  this  is  produced  by 


Eastern  Smells  and  Western  Noses.  309 

sympathy,  by  some  magnetic  relation  between  like  and 
like,  the  result  of  natural  affinities.  It  may  be  that 
each  Hindoo  is  flint  to  the  other's  steel,  and  that  more 
than  one  is  requisite  for  the  combustion  of  the  aromatic 
particles  ;  and  that,  as  evening  draws  the  perfume  from 
flowers,  and  excitement  the  "bouquet"  from  a  musk- 
rat,  contiguity  and  congregation  are  required  for  the 
proper  expression  of  the  fragrance  of  Orientals.  Cases 
of  individuals  innocent  of  all  savor  carry  therefore  no 
weight,  unless  to  those  who  believe  that  all  asses  can 
speak  because  Balaam's  quadruped  was  casually  gifted 
with  articulate  utterance,  or  that  fish  as  a  rule  possess 
stentorian  lungs  because  Mr.  Briggs  once  caught  a  pike 
that  barked. 

A  notable  point  about  this  Eastern  savor  is  that, 
though  it  approaches  man}-  others,  it  exactly  resembles 
none.  Like  Elia's  burnt  pig,  it  doesn't  smell  of  burnt 
cottage,  nor  yet  of  any  known  herb,  weed,  or  flower. 
Though  unique,  its  entity  is  intertwisted  with  a  host  of 
phantom  entities,  as  a  face  seen  in  a  passing  train,  in- 
stantly recognized  but  never  brought  home  to  any  one 
person  from  its  partial  resemblance  to  a  hundred ;  and 
they  say  that  no  number  of  qualified  truths  can  ever 
make  up  an  absolute  verity.  By  smelling  a  musk-rat 
through  a  bunch  of  garlic  an  idea  of  it  may  be  arrived 
at,  but  hardly  more ;  for  the  conflicting  odors  hamper 
the  judgment  by  distracting  the  nostrils,  keeping  it 
hovering  in  acute  uncertainty  between  the  components 
without  allowing  it  to  settle  on  the  aggregate  —  "so 
blended  and  running  into  each  other,  that  both  together 
make  but  one  ambrosial  result  or  common  substance." 
This  seems  to  be  affected  not  by  an  actual  confusion  of 
matters  but  by  parallel  existence ;  rather  by  the  nice 


310  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

exactitude  of  balance  than  mutual  absorption ;  not  so 
much  by  a  mingled  unity  as  from  our  impotence  to 
unravel  the  main  threads,  to  single  out  any  one  streak 
of  color.  It  is  like  a  nobody's  child,  a  Ginx's  bab}-, 
with  a  whole  parish  for  parents  ;  or  one  of  those  pud- 
dings which  at  every  mouthful  might  be  sworn  to 
change  its  taste,  and  which  when  finished  leaves  one 
indelible  but  impalpable  fragrance  on  the  memory  of  the 
palate,  that  may  be  called  up  by  every  passing  odor, 
but  is  never  in  its  composite  singularity  again  encoun- 
tered. It  is  a  lost  chord. 

In  the  West  no  such  community  of  fragrance  obtains, 
and  the  great  science  of  perfume,  though  exquisitely 
perfected  in  certain  details,  does  not  command  as  in  the 
East  the  attention  of  the  masses.  With  us  it  is  the 
exception  to  use  scent,  but  with  them  the  singular 
person  is  the  scentless  one.  The  nose  nevertheless 
plays  an  important  part  even  in  Europe,  and  it  is  well, 
therefore,  that  this  feature  has  at  last  found  one  cour- 
ageous apostle. 

Dr.  Jiiger,  a  professor  of  Stuttgart,  has,  after  most 
patient  experiments  with  his  own  nose,  proved  it  to  be 
the  seat  of  his  soul.  Simply  with  the  nose  on  his  face 
the  learned  professor  is  enabled,  eyes  shut  and  ears 
stopped,  to  discriminate  the  character  of  an}'  stranger 
he  may  meet,  or  even  that  he  has  passed  in  the  street. 
He  can,  then,  by  merel}*  putting  his  nose  to  the  key- 
hole, tell  what  the  people  on  the  other  side  of  the  door 
are  doing ;  and,  more  than  this,  what  they  have  just 
been  doing,  can  assure  himself  whether  they  are  young 
or  old,  married  or  single,  and  whether  they  are  happy 
or  the  reverse.  Proceeding  upon  the  knowledge  thus 
acquired  by  a  process  which  we  may  call  successful 


Eastern  Smells  and  Western  Noses.  311 

diagnosis,  the  professor  argues,  in  _a  lecture  which  he 
has  given  to  the  world  on  this  fascinating  subject,  that 
if  different  scents  express  different  traits  of  character, 
each  trait  in  turn  can  be  separate!}'  affected  by  a  par- 
ticular scent ;  and  his  experiments,  he  gravely  assures 
us,  prove  him  here  as  right  as  before.  For  not  only 
can  Dr.  Jiiger  smell,"  for  instance,  bad  temper  or  a 
tendency  to  procrastination  in  any  individual,  but  by 
emitting  the  counteracting  antidote  odor,  he  can  smooth 
the  frown  into  a  smile,  and  electrify  the  sluggard  into 
despatch.  Yet  Dr.  Jiiger  does  not  claim  to  possess 
within  himself,  his  own  actual  body,  more  perfumes 
than  any  of  his  neighbors.  He  does  not  arrogate  to 
himself  any  special  odors,  as  did  Mahomet  and  Alexan- 
der the  Great,  or  ask  to  divide  honors  with  the  civet-cat 
or  musk-deer.  There  is  no  insolent  assumption  of  this 
kind  about  the  professor,  no  unnatural  straining  after  the 
possession  of  extraordinary  attributes.  He  merely  claims 
to  have  discovered  by  chemical  research  certain  prepara- 
tions, which,  when  volatilized,  produce  certain  results 
upon  the  nostrils.  There  is  no  o'er-vaulting  ambition 
in  this.  The  merest  tyro  can  compass  as  much  with  a 
very  few  ingredients  ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  any  boy 
of  average,  or  even  the  meanest,  capacity  can,  by  a 
courageous  combination  of  the  contents  of  his  chemical 
chest,  produce  such  effluvia  as  shall  at  once,  and  vio- 
lently, affect  the  nostrils  of  the  whole  household,  not 
excluding  the  girl  in  the  sculler}-  or  the  cat  on  the 
nurseiy  hearthrug.  But  the  boy's  results  are  miscel- 
laneous and  fortuitous.  He  blunders  upon  a  smell  of 
extraordinary  volume  and  force  by,  it  may  be,  the 
merest  accident,  and  quite  unintentionally,  therefore, 
lets  loose  upon  himself  the  collective  wrath  of  his  family 


312  Idle  Hours  under  the,  Punkah. 

circle.  Dr.  Jager,  however,  has  brought  the  whole 
gamut  of  smells  under  his  own  control ;  and  so,  by  let- 
ting out  from  his  pocket  any  one  he  chooses,  he  can  at 
once  dissolve  an  assembly  in  tears  or  make  every  face 
in  it  ripple  with  smiles.  The  great  secret  of  com- 
position once  attained,  care  in  uncorking  is  all  that 
is  demanded  ;  and  the  professor,  with  his  pocket  full  of 
little  bottles,  can  move  about  unsuspected  among  his 
kind,  and,  by  his  judicious  emission  of  various  smells 
as  he  goes  along,  can  tranquilize  a  frantic  mob,  or  set 
the  passing  funeral  giggling,  or  a  Punch-and-Judy  audi- 
ence sobbing. 

Hitherto  the  nose  has  been  held,  as  compared  with 
the  other  organs  of  sense,  in  very  slight  account  indeed. 
It  has  alwaj's  been  looked  upon  as  the  shabby  feature 
of  the  face,  and,  in  public  societ}",  has  been  spoken  of 
with  an  apolog\'  for  mentioning  it.  Many  attempts  have 
been  made  to  render  it  respectable,  but  the  best-inten- 
tioned  efforts  of  philosophers  have  been  thwarted  by  the 
extremes  to  which  their  theories  have  been  pushed  by 
the  longer-nosed  individuals  of  the  public.  The  nose 
may  be  really  an  index  of  character,  but  the  amount  of 
nose  does  not  necessarily  impl}',  as  some  people  con- 
tend, a  corresponding  pre-eminence  of  genius  or  virtue. 
Many  great  and  good  men  have  had  quite  indifferent 
noses,  while  the  length  of  the  proboscis  of  more  than 
one  hero  of  the  Chamber  of  Horrors  is  remarkable.  The 
feeling  against  this  feature  has,  therefore,  been  irritated 
rather  than  soothed  by  the  well-meant  efforts  of  theorists. 
When  the  urchin,  innocent  of  art,  wishes,  with  his  simple 
chalk,  to  caricature  the  householder  upon  his  gate-post 
or  garden-door,  he  finds  in  the  nose  the  most  suitable 
object  for  his  unskilled  derision.  Grown  up,  the  same 


Eastern  Smells  and  Western  Noses.  313 

urchin,  exasperated  with  his  neighbor,  seizes  him  by  the 
nose.  This  ill-feeling  against  the  feature  admits  of  little 
explanation,  for  it  seems  altogether  unreasonable  and 
deplorable.  It  is  true  that  the  nose  takes  up  a  com- 
manding position  on  the  face,  and  does  not  altogether 
fulfil  the  expectations  naturally  formed  of  so  prominent 
a  member.  Vagrant  specks  of  soot  settle  upon  it  and 
make  it  ridiculous.  An  east  wind  covers  the  nose  with 
absurdity.  It  is  a  fierce  light  that  beats  upon  a  throne, 
and  the  nose,  before  assuming  a  central  place,  should 
perhaps,  remarking  the  fact,  have  been  better  prepared 
to  maintain  its  own  dignity.  But  beyond  this,  impartial 
criticism  cannot  blame  the  feature.  On  the  other  hand, 
much  can  be  said  in  its  favor,  and  if  Dr.  Jager  is  right, 
a  great  future  lies  before  the  nose.  Lest  it  should  be 
thought  I  exaggerate  the  importance  of  Dr.  Jiiger's  dis- 
coveries, I  give  the  learned  professor's  own  words. 
"Puzzled  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  word  soul"  says 
he,  "I  set  myself  to  inquire,  and  my  researches  have 
assured  me  that  the  seat  of  the  immortal  part  of  man  is 
in  his  nose.  All  the  mind  affections  are  relative  to  the 
nasal  sensations.  I  have  found  this  out  by  observing 
the  habits  of  animals  in  the  menagerie ;  and,  finding  how 
exquisite  was  their  sense  of  smell,  I  conceived  my  great 
idea,  and  experiment  has  proved  me  right.  So  perfect 
can  the  perceptions  by  the  nose  become  that  I  can  dis- 
cover even  the  mental  conditions  of  those  around  me 
by  smelling  them  ;  and  more  than  this,  I  can,  b}r  going 
into  a  room,  tell  at  once  by  sniffing  whether  those  who 
were  last  in  it  were  sad  or  mirthful.  Aroma  is  in  fact, 
the  essence  of  the  soul,  and  every  flavor  emitted  by  the 
bod}'  represents  a  corresponding  emotion  of  the  soul. 
Happiness  finds  expression  in  a  mirthful  perfume, 


314  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

sorrow  in  a  doleful  one.  Does  not  a  hungry  man  on 
smelling  a  joint  of  meat  at  once  rejoice  ?  I  myself  have 
been  so  overcome  by  the  scent  of  a  favorite  fruit  that, 
under  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  I  have  fallen  upon 
and  devoured  the  whole  plateful !  so  powerful  is  the 
sense  of  smell."  To  present  the  different  perfumes  ac- 
curately and  easily  to  the  eye,  the  professor,  when  first 
delivering  his  lecture,  drew  upon  a  blackboard  a  num- 
ber of  diagrams  showing  the  various  curves  taken  by 
the  scent  atoms  when  striking  upon  the  soul-nerves,  and 
explained  briefly  certain  instruments  he  had  constructed 
for  registering  the  wave  motion  of  smells,  and  the  rela- 
tive force  with  which  they  impinged  upon  the  nose  of 
his  soul  or  the  soul  of  his  nose.  The  audience  mean- 
while had  become  restless  and  agitated,  and  the  pro- 
fessor therefore  hurried  on  to  the  second  section  of  his 
discoveries  —  those  for  counteracting  the  passions  de- 
tected by  the  nose.  "  I  have  here,"  he  said,  "  a  smell- 
murdering  essence,  which  I  have  discovered  and  christ- 
ened Ozogene,  and  with  which  I  can  soothe  the  angry 
man  to  mildness  or  infuriate  a  Quaker."  But  the  audi- 
ence, such  is  the  bigoted  antipath}*  to  the  exaltation  of 
the  nose,  would  not  stand  this  on  any  account,  and  the 
professor,  in  obedience  to  the  clamor,  had  to  resume  his 
seat. 

Dr.  Jager  did  not,  therefore,  secure  a  patient  hearing  : 
but  he  should  remember  how  at  all  times  the  first  apos- 
tles of  truth  have  been  received,  and  live  content  to 
know  that  posterity  will  gravely  honor  his  memory, 
though  contemporary  man  makes  fun  of  his  discoveries. 
Indeed,  posterity  will  have  good  cause  to  honor  the 
great  man  who  shall  thus  have  banished  from  among 
them  strife  and  anger.  The  Riot  Act  will  never  have 


Eastern  Smells  and  Western  Noses.          315 

to  be  read  to  an  excited  populace,  since  a  squirt  of  per- 
fume will  suffice  to  allay  their  fury.  The  comic  lecturer 
or  charity-sermon  preacher  may  assure  themselves,  of 
the  sympathy  of  his  audiences  quite  apart  from  the 
matter  of  their  discourse.  Science  will  have  new  fields 
opened  to  it,  and  humanity  take  a  new  lease  of  its 
pleasures.  The  nose,  hitherto  held  of  little  more  ac- 
count than  the  chin,  will  supersede  all  the  other  fea- 
tures, and,  like  Cinderella,  rise  from  the  kitchen  ashes 
to  palace  dignities,  developing  under  the  Darwinian 
theory  into  proboscidian  dimensions  of  extraordinary 
acuteness.  The  policeman  will  need  no  evidence  but 
that  of  his  nose  to  detect  the  thief,  actual  or  potential, 
and  the  judge,  unhampered  by  jury,  counsel  or  wit- 
nesses, will  summarily  dispense  a  nasal  justice.  Di- 
plomacy will  be  purged  of  its  obscurities,  and  statesmen 
live  in  a  perpetual  palace  of  truth.  Conscious  of  each 
other's  detective  organs,  men  will  speak  of  their  fellows 
honestly,  and  hypocrisy  will  cease  from  society.  How 
will  war  or  crime  be  able  to  thrive  when  the  first  symp- 
tom of  ill-temper  in  a  sovereign  or  of  ambition  in  a 
minister  can  be  quenched  at  the  will  of  any  individual 
ratepayer?  And  thus  a  universal  peace  will  settle  upon 
a  sniffing  world. 


316  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 


m. 

GAMINS. 

A  NTHROPOLOGY,  no  doubt,  is  a  great  science, 
Jr\.  but  still  it  is  merely  an  infant,  —  a  monster  baby, 
I  confess,  but  scarcely  past  the  age  at  which  Charles 
Lamb  liked  sucking-pigs  and  chimney-s weeps.  Toddles 
and  Poddies,  as  readers  of  Dickens  will  remember,  used 
to  go  on  buccaneering  expeditions,  but  the}-  were  only 
across  the  kitchen-floor,  and  often  ended  in  the  fireplace. 
Anthropology,  in  the  same  way,  makes  only  short  ex- 
cursions, and  these  even  are  not  always  marked  by  judg- 
ment in  direction.  At  an}*  rate,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  anthropology  has  not  as  yet  paid  any  consideration 
to  the  great  co-ordinate  science  of  "  lollipopology  "  of 
which  one  sub-section  concerns  itself  with  the  phenomena 
of  gamins. 

This  subject  has  perhaps  been  touched  upon  in  ephem- 
eral literature,  but  it  was  a  mere  flirtation,  a  flippant 
butterfly  kind  of  settling.  The  intentions  were  not  mat- 
rimonial ;  there  was  no  talk  of  taking  the  house  on  a 
lease.  And  yet  the  subject  of  gamin  distribution  is 
worthy  investigation.  Why  are  there  no  gamins  in  In- 
dia, with  their  street  affronts  and  trivial  triumphs  ? 
Pariah  dogs  are  scarcely  an  equivalent  for  these  un- 
kempt morsels  of  barbarism,  these  little  Ishmaels  of 
our  cities.  What  is  the  reason,  then,  for  their  absence? 
Can  it  be  too  hot  to  turn  three  wheels  a  penny  ?  Surely 


Gamins.  317 

not ;  for  dust  is  a  bad  conductor  of  heat,  and  what  gamin 
is  there  —  pure-minded,  a  gamin  nomine  dignus  —  that 
would  not  rather  turn  thirty  somersaults  in  a  dust-bin 
than  three  on  a  pavement?  Wh}T,  my  "compound"1 
alone  would  tempt  to  an  eternit}'  of  tumbling.  And  yet 
no  Hindoo  of  my  acquaintance  has  even  offered  to  stand 
on  his  head  !  Can  it  be  that  there  is  no  ready  means  of 
causing  annoyance?  What!  Is  there  not  that  same 
dust?  Would  not  any  gamin,  unless  lost  to  all  sense 
of  emulation  and  self-respect,  rejoice  in  kicking  up  dust 
if  he  saw  the  remotest  glimpse  of  even  the  chance  of 
molesting  anybod}*?  Again,  wh}"  do  not  little  Hindoos 
throw  stones  about?  Because  there  is  nothing  to  throw 
at?  Hah!  Put  one  vulture  down  in  Islington,  and 
mark  the  instant  result.  Nothing  to  throw  at?  Meher- 
cule  !  Am'  member  of  a  large  family  will  remember  the 
tumultuous  uprising  and  stair-shaking  exit  of  the  junior 
olive-twigs  if  even  a  wagtail  came  into  the  garden.  A 
cat  on  the  lawn  was  convulsions.  Imagine,  then,  those 
same  impetuous  juniors  surrounded  by  blue-jays,  bee- 
eaters,  and  gray  squirrels !  And  yet  the  young  Hindoo 
sees  an  easy  mark  for  an}T  of  the  stones  lying  at  his  feet, 
and  passes  on.  Perhaps  it  is  something  in  the  shape  of 
the  stones  ?  The  argument  is  plausible ;  for  Indian 
stones,  it  is  true,  are  of  hideous  shapes,  angular  and 
unprovocative.  The  fingers  do  not  itch  to  throw  them. 
But  European  gamins  will  throw  brick  in  scraggy  and 
uncompromising  sections,  rebarbatif  and  volcanic  in  ap- 
pearance, —  at,  when  other  targets  fail,  a  curbstone.  A 
London  gamin  would  heave  his  grandmother,  if  he 

1  A  word  of  vexed  derivation,  but  meaning  in  India  (and  Ba- 
tavia,  I  believe)  the  precincts  of  a  dwelling-house,  —  premises,  in 
fact.  — P.  R. 


318  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

could,  at  a  mungoose.  Are  Hindoos  forbidden  to  throw 
stones  ?  Perhaps  they  may  be,  but  imagine  forbidding 
a  gamin  to  throw  stones,  or  forbidding  a  garnin  to  do 
anything  !  When  England  sells  Gibraltar  it  will  be  time 
to  think  of  that ;  or  when,  as  Wendell  Holmes  sa}-s, 
strawberries  grow  bigger  downward  through  the  basket. 
It  is  evident,  then,  that  none  of  these  are  the  right  rea- 
sons, so  it  only  remains  to  conclude  that  Hindoos  wore 
not  designed  in  the  beginning  for  gamins.  Boys,  they 
say,  are  the  natural  enemies  of  creation,  but  Young 
India  contradicts  this  flat.  "  Boys  will  be  boys"  lias 
stood  most  of  us  in  good  stead  when  brought  red-handed 
before  the  tribune  ;  yet  Young  India  needs  no  excusings 
for  mischief.  He  never  does  any.  He  has  all  the  vir- 
tues of  his  elders,  and  none  of  their  vices,  for  he  posi- 
tively prefers  to  behave  properly. 

Perhaps  as  a  last  resource  the  absence  of  gamins  in 
India  might  be  accepted  as  a  key  to  the  theory  of 
climates,  for  we  know  that  Nature  never  wastes.  Na- 
ture is  pre-eminent!}'  economical.  What,  then,  would 
have  been  the  use  of  giving  Bengal  ice  and  snow,  since 
there  are  no  gamins  to  throw  it  about,  or  to  make  slides 
on  pavements  ? 

In  England  the  small  boy  begins  to  throw  stones  as 
soon  as  he  can  crawl  to  one,  and  continues  to  do  so 
until  he  takes  to  gloves,  or  is  taken  up  by  the  police ; 
and  there  are  tolerable  reasons  why  he  should  thus 
indulge  himself.  Take,  for  instance,  the  case  of  a  pass- 
ing train.  The  bo}~s  see  the  train  coming  and  a  lively 
interest  is  at  once  aroused  in  its  approach  ;  the  best 
places  on  the  bridge  are  scrambled  for,  and  the  smaller 
children,  who  cannot  climb  up  for  themselves,  are  hoisted 
on  to  the  parapet  and  balanced  across  it  on  their  stom- 


Gamins.  319 

achs  to  see  the  train  pass.  As  it  comes  puffing  and 
steaming  up,  the  interest  rises  into  excitement,  and 
then,  as  the  engine  plunges  under  the  bridge,  boils  over 
in  enthusiasm.  How  are  they  to  express  this  emotion 
in  the  few  seconds  at  their  disposal  ?  They  must  be 
ver}-  quick,  for  the  carriages  are  slipping  rapidlj*  past 
one  after  the  other.  It  is  of  no  use  shouting,  for  the 
train  makes  more  noise  than  they,  and  they,  unfor- 
tunately, have  no  handkerchiefs  to  wave.  But  the  crisis 
is  acute,  and  something  has  to  be  done,  and  that 
promptly.  There  is  no  time  to  waste  in  reflection,  or 
the  train  will  be  gone,  and  the  sudden  solitude  that  will 
follow  will  be  embittered  to  them  by  the  consciousness 
of  golden  opportunities  lost  for  ever.  They  wave  their 
arms  like  wild  semaphores,  scream  inarticulately,  and 
dance  up  and  down,  but  all  this  is  manifestly  inade- 
quate. It  does  not  rise  to  the  occasion,  and  the}'  feel 
that  it  does  not.  The  moment  of  tumult,  with  the 
bridge  shaking  under  them,  the  dense  white  steam- 
clouds  rushing  up  at  them,  and  the -roar  of  the  train  in 
their  ears,  demands  a  higher  expression  of  their  hom- 
age, a  more  glorious  tribute  from  their  energy.  Look- 
ing round  in  despair,  they  see  some  stones.  To  grab 
them  up  in  handfuls  is  the  work  of  an  instant,  and  in 
the  next  the  missiles  are  on  their  way.  After  all,  the 
moment  had  been  almost  lost,  for  the  guard's  van  was 
just  emerging  from  under  the  bridge,  as  the  pebbles 
came  hurtling  along  after  the  speeding  train  ;  but  the 
youngsters  rejoice,  and  go  home  gladdened  that  they 
did  not  throw  in  vain,  for  the  guard,  hearing  the  patter- 
ing upon  the  roof,  looked  out  to  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter and  shook  his  fist  at  them,  and  the  boys  feel  that 
they  have  done  their  best  to  celebrate  the  event,  that 


320  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

their  sacrifice  has  been  accepted,  and  that  they  have 
not  lived  and  loved  in  vain.  For  it  is,  undoubted!}-,  a 
sacrifice  that  they  offer,  —  a  sacrifice  to  emotions  highly 
wrought,  to  an  ecstasy  of  enthusiasm  suddenly  over- 
whelming them  and  as  suddenly  departing,  to  the  ma- 
jesty of  the  train  and  its  tumultuous  passage. 

Boys  do  not,  it  will  be  noticed,  throw  stones  at  pass- 
ing wheelbarrows  or  at  perambulators,  or  even  at  cabs. 
Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  excites  sufficiently. 
They  belong  more  to  their  own  sphere  and  their  own 
level  in  life,  are  viewed  subjectively,  and  seem  too  com- 
monplace for  extraordinary  attentions.  The  train  and 
the  steamboat,  however,  are  abstract  ideas,  absorbing 
the  human  beings  they  carry  into  their  own  gigantic 
entity,  so  far  removed  from  the  boys'  own  lives  that 
they  do  not  fall  within  the  pale  of  ordinary  ethics,  and 
have  to  be  viewed  from  a  higher  objective  platform. 
Besides,  the  driver  and  guards  of  the  train,  being  in  a 
hurry,  have  no  time  to  get  down  and  catch  the  pelters, 
and  therefore  it  is  safe  to  pelt — so  the  boys  think. 

Whether  magistrates  have  ever  studied,  or  should 
study,  the  matter  from  any  other  than  a  police-court 
point  of  view  I  should  hesitate  to  affirm.  But  in  the 
ordinary  cases  where  lads  fling  pebbles  at  a  steamboat 
or  train,  their  parents  are  fined,  with  the  option  of  the 
culprits  going  to  prison,  and  as  the  parents  no  doubt 
always  give  the  urchins  their  full  money's  worth  in  retri- 
bution, justice  is  probably  dealt  out  all  round  fairly 
enough.  The  boys,  it  generally  appears,  hit  "an  el- 
derly passenger"  with  one  of  the  stones  which  they 
throw ;  and  there  matters  culminate,  as  the  original  act 
of  stone-throwing,  had  the  missiles  struck  no  one,  might 
have  passed  by  as  a  surviving  remnant  of  some  old 
pagan  ceremony. 


Gamins.  321 

Indeed  from  the  very  first,  the  youngsters  have  had 
bad  examples  before  them ;  and  if  in  such  matters  we 
are  to  go  back  to  the  original  offenders,  we  must  confess 
that  Deucalion  and  his  wife  have  much  to  answer  for. 
Their  descendants  have  been  throwing  stones  ever 
since  ;  and,  whether  in  fun  or  in  earnest,  in  the  execu- 
tion of  criminal  sentences  or  the  performance  of  religious 
rites,  men  have  never  given  over  pelting  each  other. 
Whatever  part  of  the  world  we  go  into,  we  find  it  is  the 
same  ;  for  in  the  wilds  of  America  the  Red  Indian  shies 
flints  at  his  spirit  stones ;  all  over  Europe  the  devil  is 
exorcised  with  stones ;  and  in  Asia,  whether  it  is  the 
Arab  pelting  the  Evil  One  from  the  sacred  precincts  of 
the  Holy  City,  or  the  Hindoo  dropping  pebbles  into  the 
valleys  of  enchantment,  a  similar  tendency  in  race  pre- 
vails. 

As  an  instance  of  the  innocent  view  taken  of  the 
practice  by  a  distinguished  Englishman,  De  Quincey, 
I  would  quote  the  incident  of  his  meeting  the  king  in 
Windsor  Park.  De  Quincey  was  then  a  lad,  and,  walk- 
ing with  a  3"oung  friend,  was,  he  tells  us,  "  theorizing 
and  practically  commenting  on  the  art  of  chucking 
stones.  Boj's,"  he  continues,  "  have  a  peculiar  con- 
tempt for  female  attempts  in  that  way.  For,  besides 
that  girls  fling  wide  of  the  mark,  with  a  certainty  that 
might  have  won  the  applause  of  Galerius,1  there  is  a 
peculiar  sling  and  rotary  motion  of  the  arm  in  launch- 

1  "Sir,"  said  that  emperor  to  a  soldier  who  had  missed  the 
target  in  succession  I  know  not  how  many  times  (suppose  we 
say  fifteen),  "allow  me  to  offer  my  congratulations  on  the  truly 
admirable  skill  you  have  shown  in  keeping  clear  of  the  mark. 
Not  to  have  hit  once  in  so  many  trials,  argues  the  most  splen- 
did talents  for  missing." 

21 


322  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

ing  a  stone,  which  no  girl  ever  can  attain.  From  an- 
cient practice  "  (note  this)  "  I  was  somewhat  of  a  pro- 
ficient in  this  art,  and  was  discussing  the  philosophy  of 
female  failures,  illustrating  my  doctrine  with  pebbles, 
as  the  case  happened  to  demand,  when  — "  he  met  the 
king,  and  the  narrative  diverges  from  the  subject. 

Nor  is  stone-throwing  without  some  dignity  in  its 
traditions,  for  it  has  happened  probably  to  many  of  us 
ourselves,  and  it  has  certainly  been  a  custom  from  time 
immemorial,  to  take  augury  more  or  less  momentous 
from  this  act,  and  make  oracles  of  our  pebbles.  Among 
the  many  cases  of  this  species  of  divination  on  record, 
none  is  more  notable  than  that  of  Rousseau's,  where  he 
put  the  tremendous  issues  of  his  future  state  to  the  test 
of  stone-throwing.  "One  day,"  sa}-s  he,  "  I  was  pon- 
dering over  the  condition  of  my  soul  and  the  chances  of 
future  salvation  or  the  reverse,  and  all  the  while  me- 
chanically, as  it  were,  throwing  stones  at  the  trunks 
of  the  trees  I  passed,  and  with  all  1113*  customaiy  dex- 
terity, —  or  in  other  words  never  hitting  one  of  them. 
All  of  a  sudden  the  idea  flashed  into  my  mind  that  I 
would  take  an  augur}-,  and  thus,  if  possible,  relieve  my 
mental  anxiety.  I  said  to  myself,  I  will  throw  this 
stone  at  that  tree  opposite.  If  I  hit  it,  I  am  to  be 
saved ;  if  I  miss  it,  I  am  to  be  damned  eternally ! " 
And  he  threw  the  stone,  and  hit  it  plumb  in  the  mid- 
dle,—  "ce  qui  veritablement  n'etait  pas  difficile;  car 
j'avais  eu  soin  de  choisir  uu  arbre  fort  gros  et  fort 
pres." 

It  is  very  possible,  moreover,  that  the  English  boy 
throws  stones  from  hereditary  instinct ;  that  he  bom- 
bards the  passing  locomotives  even  as  in  primeval  for- 
ests the  ancestral  ape  "  shelled"  with  the  cocoanuts  of 


Gamins.  323 

his  native  forests  the  passing  herds  of  bison.  It  would 
therefore  be  rash,  without  research  into  the  lore  of 
stone-throwing,  and  a  better  knowledge  of  the  Stone 
Age,  to  say  that  the  urchin  who  takes  a  "  cockshy  "  at 
a  steamboat  does  so  purely  from  criminal  instinct ;  for 
it  is  repeatedly  iu  evidence  that  he  takes  no  aim  with 
his  missile  at  all,  but  simply  launches  it  into  space,  and, 
generous  and  trustful  as  childhood  always  is,  casts  his 
pebbles  upon  the  waters  in  hopes  of  pleasant  though 
fortuitous  results. 

Again,  as  I  have  already  said,  there  is  often  no  mali- 
cious motive.  To  pelt  the  loquacious  frog  is,  in  my 
opinion,  a  cruel  act,  but  the  criminality  lessens,  at  least 
to  my  thinking,  if  the  same  stone  be  thrown  at  a  hippo- 
potamus. Similarly,  we  might  recognize  a  difference 
between  flinging  half  a  brick  at  an  individual  stranger 
and  throwing  it  at  a  mass-meeting  or  at  a  nation,  or  at 
All  the  Russias ;  while,  if  a  boy  threw  stones  at  the 
Channel  Squadron,  he  would  be  simply  absurd,  and  his 
criminality  would  cease  altogether.  Where,  then,  should 
the  line  be  drawn  ?  The  boy  would  rather  pelt  an  iron- 
clad than  a  penny  steamboat,  for  it  is  a  larger  and 
nobler  object  to  aim  at ;  but,  though  he  could  do 
"  H.M.S.  Devastation"  no  harm,  the  police  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  overlook  his  conduct.  Stone- 
throwing  has  therefore  come  to  be  considered  wrong  in 
itself;  just  as  the  other  day  a  wretched  old  bear,  found 
dancing  for  hire  in  the  streets,  was  astonished  to  learn 
from  the  police  magistrate  that  bears  are  not  permitted 
to  dance  in  England.  What  his  hind  legs  were  given 
him  for  the  quadruped  will  now  be  puzzled  to  guess, 
and  in  the  same  waj-  the  bo}',  finding  he  must  not  throw 
them,  will  wonder  what  stones  were  made  for. 


324  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

A  very  small  cause,  indeed,  ma}-  have  immense  effects  ; 
and  this  holds  good  with  national  character  as  well  as 
with  natural  phenomena.  A  little  stone  set  rolling  from 
the  top  of  the  Andes  might  spread  ruin  far  and  wide 
through  the  vallej-s  at  their  feet,  and  the  accident  of 
Esau  being  a  good  marksman  has  left  the  Arabs  wan- 
derers and  desert  folk  to  the  present  day.  The  English 
character  has  itself  been  formed  by  an  aggregation  of 
small  causes  working  together,  and  it  will  perhaps  be 
found  that  one  of  the  most  important  of  them  was  the 
abundance  of  stones  that  lie  about  the  surface  of  the 
ground  in  England.  In  India  the  traveller,  may  go  a 
thousand  miles  in  a  straight  line,  and  except  where  he 
crosses  rivers,  will  not  find  anything  on  the  ground 
which  he  can  pick  up  and  throw.  The  Bengali,  there- 
fore, cannot  throw,  and  never  could,  for  he  has  never 
had  anything  to  practise  with ;  and  what  is  his  char- 
acter? Is  he  not  notorious^  gentle  and  soft-man- 
nered? His  dogs  are  still  wild  beasts,  and  his  wild 
birds  are  tame.  What  can  explain  this  better  than  the 
absence  of  stones  ?  We  in  England  have  always  had 
plenty  of  stones,  and  where  the  fists  could  not  settle 
quarrels  our  rude  ancestors  had  only  to  stoop  to  the 
ground  for  arms  ;  and  it  is  a  mere  platitude  to  say  that 
the  constant  provision  of  arms  makes  a  people  ready  to 
pick  a  quarrel  and  encourages  independence  in  bearing. 
From  the  same  cause  our  dogs  obe}'  our  voices,  for  the 
next  argument  they  know  will  be  a  stone  ;  while,  as  for 
our  wild  birds",  let  the  schoolboj's  tell  us  whether  the}- 
understand  the  use  of  pebbles  or  not.  In  Greece  the 
argument  of  the  chermadion  is  still  a  favorite,  for  the 
savage  dogs  are  still  there  that  will  recognize  no  other, 
unmindful  of  that  disastrous  episode  in  the  history  of 
Mycenae,  which  all  arose  from  Hercules's  3'oung  cousin 


Gamins.  325 

throwing  a  paving  stone  at  a  baying  hound.  These 
same  bo}'s  of  ours,  therefore,  have  this  argument  also  in 
their  favor,  that  they  are  obeying  an  hereditary  instinct 
and  developing  the  original  plan  of  nature,  when  they 
throw  stones. 

I  doubt  if  the  police  will  attend  to  this.  It  is  better, 
perhaps,  they  should  not,  or  at  any  rate,  that  they 
should  whip  the  boys  first  and  discuss  the  instinct  after- 
wards. A  reformatory,  except  at  Stone}7  Stratford, 
for  such  offenders  would  not^  so  to  speak,  be  out  of 
place,  and  a  penitentiary  at  Stonehenge  would  be  de- 
lightfully apposite,  for  the  urchins  could  not  throw  it 
about,  however  much  the}'  might  pine  to  do  so.  If  exile 
be  not  thought  too  harsh  for  such  delinquents,  punish- 
ment might  be  pleasantly  blended  with  consideration,  if 
our  stone-throwing  youth'  were  banished  to  Arabia 
Petraea.  We  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  recommend 
stoning  the  urchins,  for  the  ceremony  which  goes  by 
that  name  was  not  the  promiscuous  casting  of  stones  at 
a  criminal,  as  is  generally  supposed.  The  guilty  person, 
so  the  Talmud  enacts,  was  taken  to  the  top  of  an  emi- 
nence of  fifteen  feet,  and  violently  pushed  over  the 
edge.  The  fall  generally  broke  his  .back,  but  if  the  exe- 
cutioners, on  looking  over,  found  their  victim  was  not 
dead,  they  fetched  one  large  stone  and  dropped  it  down 
from  the  same  eminence  upon  the  body.  Such  a  punish- 
ment as  this  would  not  be  suitable  for  the  modern 
offence  of  pelting  trains  and  steamboats.  Nevertheless 
severity  is  called  for ;  as,  in  spite  of  the  hereditary  and 
legendary  precedent  which  the  gamin  of  the  period  has 
for  his  pastimes,  he  cannot,  even  as  the  representative 
of  the  primeval  ape,  be  permitted  to  indulge  his  en- 
thusiasm at  the  sight  of  the  triumphs  of  science  in  a 
manner  that  endangers  the  elderly  passenger. 


326  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 


IV. 

OF  TAILORS. 

THAT  superstition  is  hateful,  merely  because  it  is 
superstition,  is  an  inhuman  doctrine.  Yorick 
was  superstitious,  and  so  was  Martin  Luther.  That 
a  man  should  hesitate  to  shoot  a  raven  lest  he  kill 
King  Arthur  unawares,  can  scarcely  be  held  a  criminal 
cunctation.  Was  ever  man  more  superstitious  than  the 
silly  knight  of  La  Mancha,  the  sweet  gentleman  who 
loved  too  well ;  but  did  ever  the  man  soil  earth  who 
hated  Don  Quixote?  Cervantes,  when  he  limned  him, 
might  laugh  away  the  chivalry  of  Spain  ;  but  he  did  not, 
nor  did  he  wish  to,  draw  a  knave.  And  yet  in  nothing 
do  we  find  more  to  hate,  with  the  honest  hatred  of  an 
Esau,  than  in  this  same  superstition.  Heaven-born,  it 
has  bred  with  monster  fiends.  True  superstition  is  rev- 
erent, and  from  it,  like  orchids  from  an  old  tree-trunk, 
spring  blossoms  of  rare  beaut}'.  But  as  the  same  tree 
feeds  noisome  fungi,  the  vampire  epiph}~te  and  slab 
lichens,  so  from  the  grand  old  trunk  of  superstition  has 
sprung  out  a  growth  of  unwholesome  fictions.  What 
miscreant  first  said  that  a  tailor  was  the  ninth  part,  and 
no  more,  of  a  man?  B}r  what  vile  arithmetic  did  the 
author  of  the  old  play  arrive  at  his  equation  of  tailors  to 
men  when  he  makes  his  hero,  on  meeting  eighteen  of 
them,  call  out,  "  Come  on,  hang  it,  I'll  fight  you  both ! " 
Why  a  ninth,  and  why  a  tailor? 


Of  Tailors.  327 

The  tailor  is  the  victim  of  misconstruction.  Remem- 
ber George  Eliot's  story  of  a  man  so  snuffy  that  the  cat 
happening  to  pass  near  him  was  seized  with  such  a  vio- 
lent sternutation  as  to  be  cruelly  misunderstood !  Let 
Baboo  Ishuree  Dass  say,  "  Tailors,  the}'  are  very  dis- 
honest "  ;  he  is  speaking  of  natives.  Let  Burton  say, 
"  The  tailor  is  a  thief"  ;  he  was  fanciful.  And  let  Ur- 
quiza  of  Paita  be  detested ;  he  was  only  a  half-bred 
Peruvian.  Remember  the  regiment  of  London  tailors  ; 
De  Quincy's  brave  journe}'inan  tailor;  M.  Achille  Jules 
Cesar  Le  Grand,  who  was  so  courteous  to  Marguerite 
in  the  "  Morals  of  May  Fair  "  ;  the  tailor  of  Yarrow  who 
beat  Mr.  Tickler  at  backgammon  ;  the  famous  tailor 
who  killed  seven  at  one  blow  and  lived  to  divide  a  king- 
dom, and  to  call  a  queen  his  stepmother.  Read 
"  Mouat's  Quinquennial  Report  of  the  Lower  Prov- 
inces," and  learn  that  the  number  of  tailors  in  prison 
was  less  by  one  half  than  that  of  the  priests.  They 
were,  moreover,  the  only  class  that  had  the  decency  to 
be  incarcerated  in  round  numbers,  thereby  notably  facili- 
tating the  taking  of  averages  and  the  deduction  of 
most  valuable  observations. 

Tailors,  the  ninth  part  of  a  man !  Then  are  all 
^Ethiops  harmless  ?  Can  no  Cretan  speak  a  true  word, 
or  a  Breotian  a  wise  one  ?  Are  all  Italians  blasphem- 
ing, and  is  Egypt  merry  Eg}-pt?  Nature, 'and  she  is  no 
fool,  has  thought  good  to  reproduce  the  tailor  type  in 
bird  and  insect :  then  why  does  man  contemn  the  tailor? 
Because  he  sits  cross-legged?  Then  is  there  not  a 
whole  man  in  Persia.  Wiry  should  our  children  be 
taught  in  the  nursery  rhyme,  how  "  nine-and-twenty 
tailors  went  out  to  kill  a  snail,  but  not  a  single  one  of 
them  dared  to  touch  his  tail"  ?  Or  why  should  the 


328  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

world  exult  over  the  tailor,  whom  the  elephant,  as  we 
learn  from  Mrs.  Gurton's  "  Book  of  Anecdotes,"  squirted 
with  ditch-water?  We  know  the  elephant  to  have  been 
the  aggressor ;  but  just  as  we  rejoice  with  Punch  over 
the  murder  of  his  wife,  and  the  affront  he  offers  to  the 
devil,  so  we  applaud  the  ill-mannered  pachyderm.  "  The 
elephant,"  we  read  in  childhood,  "put  his  trunk  into  a 
tailor's  shop,"  thrust  his  nose,  some  four  feet  of  it,  into 
a  tailor's  house,  his  castle,  writing  himself  down  a  gross 
fellow  and  an  impertinent.  For  the  tailor  to  have  said, 
' '  Take  y our  nose  out  of  my  shop "  would  have  been 
tame ;  and  on  a  mammal  ill-conditioned  enough  to  go 
where  he  was  not  bidden,  such  temperance  would  have 
been  thrown  away.  When  the  Goth  pulled  the  beard  of 
the  Senator,  the  Roman  struck  him  down.  Did  Jupiter 
argue  with  Ixion,  or  Mark  band}'  words  with  the  lover 
of  Isolt?  The  tailor  did  not  waste  his  breath,  but  we 
read  "  pricked  the  elephant's  nose  with  a  needle." 
Here  the  story  should  end.  Jove's  eagles  have  met  at 
Delos.  But  no.  "The  elephant,"  we  are  told,  "re- 
tired to  a  puddle  and  filled  his  trunk  with  water,  and 
returning  to  the  shop,  squirted  it  over  the  tailor."  It 
was  sagacious,  doubtless,  to  squirt  water  at  the  tailor, 
and  to  squirt  it  straight ;  but  such  sagacity  is  no  virtue, 
or  the  Artful  Dodger  must  be  held  to  be  virtuous.  The 
triumph  of  the  elephant  was  Qne  of  Punch's  triumphs  ; 
Punch,  who  beats  his  wife  past  recover}7,  hangs  an 
intimate  friend  after  stealing  his  dog,  and  trifles  with 
the  devil, — Punch  the  incorrigible  homunculus  who, 
fresh  from  murder  (Ms  infant  being  thrown  out  of  win- 
dow) ,  and  with  the  smell  of  the  brimstone  of  Diavolus 
still  clinging  to  his  frilled  coat,  complacently  drums  his 
heels  upon  the  stage  and  assures  his  friends  in  front 


Of  Tailors.  329 

that  be  has  put  his  enemies  to  flight.  Roota-too-it! 
Root-a-too-it !  It  is  a  great  villain ;  yet  the  audience 
roar  their  fat  applause.  So  with  the  elephant.  Yet 
Mrs.  Gurton  has  handed  him  down  to  future  childhood 
as  a  marvel  of  sagacity,  to  be  compared  only  with  that 
pig  who  tells  the  time  of  day  on  playing-cards  ;  the  cat 
in  Wellingtons  who  made  his  master  Marquis  of  Cara- 
bas,  and  rose  himself  to  high  honors  ;  and  that  ingeni- 
ous but  somewhat  severe  old  lady  who  labored  under  the 
double  disadvantage  of  small  lodgings  and  a  large 
famil}'.  Of  all  these  Mrs.  Gurton,  in  her  able  work, 
preserves  the  worthy  memories  ;  but  that  episode  of  the 
high-handed  elephant  and  the  seemly  tailor  should  have 
been  forgotten  —  irrecoverably  lost  like  the  hundred  and 
odd  volumes  of  LrVy,  or  Tabitha  Bramble's  reticule  in 
the  River  Avon.  But  the  blame  of  perpetuation  rests 
not  with  Mrs.  Gurton,  but  with  her  posterity.  They 
admired  the  work  and  reprinted  it,  not  like  Anthon's 
classics,  expurgated,  but  in  its  noisome  entirety.  The 
volume  before  me  is  now  a  score  years  old  —  one  year 
j'ounger  than  was  Utysses's  dog,  and  two  years  older 
than  Chatterton  ;  so  perhaps  it  may  not  be  reproduced 
in  our  generation,  and  the  mischievous  fable  may  die 
out  before  the  growth  of  better  reading,  as  the  scent  of 
a  musk-rat  killed  over-night  fades  away  before  the  fumes 
of  breakfast.  Then  let  us  hope,  the  tailor  —  the  only 
story  which  reflects  contempt  on  him  being  abolished  — 
will  assume  his  proper  position  between  the  angels  and 
the  anthropomorphous  apes. 


330  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 


V. 

THE  HARA-KIRI. 

THE  Hara-kiri  is  a  universal  custom,  for  there  is 
no  passion  in  the  mind  of  man  so  weak  but  it 
masters  the  fear  of  death.  So  said  Lord  Bacon ;  and 
he  illustrates  his  text,  as  also  does  Burton,  in  his 
"Anatomy,"  with  many  notable  examples  of  revenge 
triumphing  over  death,  love  slighting  it,  honor  aspiring 
to  it,  grief  filing  to  it,  fear  ignoring  it,  and  even  pity, 
the  tenderest  of  affections,  provoking  to  it.  When  Otho 
the  Emperor  committed  suicide,  many,  out  of  sheer 
compassion  that  such  a  sovereign  should  have  re- 
nounced life,  killed  themselves.  Indeed  it  requires  no 
strong  passion  to  take  the  terrors  out  of  death,  for  we 
know  how  frequently  suicides  have  left  behind  them,  as 
the  only  reason  for  their  act,  that  they  were  <k  tired  of 
life,"  weary,  perhaps,  of  an  existence  monotonous  with 
poverty  or  sickness,  or  even  simply  borne  clown  by  the 
mere  tedious  repetition  of  uneventful  days.  In  spite, 
however,  of  the  multitude  of  examples  which  past  his- 
tory and  the  records  of  our  own  every-day  life  afford, 
that  death  wears  for  many  of  all  classes  and  both  sexes 
a  by  no  means  fearful  aspect,  the  human  mind  recoils 
from  the  prospect  of  digging,  as  it  were,  one's  own 
grave,  and  shudders  at  the  thought  of  being  the  exe- 
cutioner of  one's  own  body. 

Apologists  have,  however,  been  found  for  suicide,  not 


-  Tlie  Hara-Kiri.  331 

only  in  antiquity,  but  in  modern  days ;  some,  like  Dr. 
Donne,  claiming  for  the  act  the  same  degrees  of  culpa- 
bility that  the  law  attaches  to  homicide,  others  founding 
their  pleas  on  the  ground  that  Holy  Writ  nowhere  con- 
demns the  crime,  and  one  profanely  arguing  that  his  life 
is  a  man's  own  to  do  with  as  he  will.  Goethe  ma}-  be 
called  an  apologist  for  suicide,  and  so  may  all  those  his- 
torians or  novelists  who  make  their  heroes  "  die  nobly" 
by  their  own  hands ;  and  De  Quincey  himself  seems  to 
have  been  at  one  time  inclined  to  excuse  under  certain 
circumstances  the  act  of  "  spontaneous  martyrdom." 

Pity  at  first  carries  away  the  feelings  of  the  sympa- 
thetic, but  there  are  few  healthy  minds  to  which,  on  the 
second  thought,  does  not  come  the  reflection  that  suicide 
is,  after  all,  an  insult  to  human  nature,  and,  for  all  its 
pathos,  cowardly.  There  are,  indeed,  circumstances, 
such,  for  instance,  as  hideous,  incurable  disease,  that 
tend  to  soften  the  public  verdict  upon  the  unhappy 
wretch,  who,  in  taking  his  own  life,  had  otherwise  com- 
mitted a  crime  against  humanity,  and  played  a  traitor's 
part  .to  all  that  is  most  noble  in  man.  But  these,  as 
actually  resulting  in  suicide,  are  very  exceptional  and 
infrequent.  In  most  cases  life  is  thrown  away  impa- 
tiently and  peevishly,  a  sudden  impulse  of  remo  se  or 
grief  nerving  the  victim  to  forget  how  grand  life  really 
is,  with  its  earnest  aims  and  hearty  work,  and  how 
bright  it  is  with  its  every-day  home  affections  and  its 
cheerful  hopes  of  better  things  and  better  times.  Our 
courts  of  law  generalize  such  impulses  under  the  term 
"  temporaiy  insanity,"  and  the  world  accepts  the  term 
as  a  satisfactory  one,  for  it  is  not  human  to  believe  that 
a  sane  person  would  under  any  circumstances  throw  up 
life.  Races,  our  own  notably,  conspicuous  wherever 


332  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

found  in  the  earth  for  their  active,  hearty,  healthful 
pursuit  of  work  or  pleasure,  refuse  to  believe  that  any 
but  the  mad,  whether  permanently  or  for  the  time  only, 
would  wilfully  cut  short  their  life's  interests,  and  ex- 
change sunlight  and  manly  labor,  all  the  ups  and  downs 
that  make  men  brave  and  hopeful,  for  the  gloomy  igno- 
miny of  a  premature  grave.  "  Above  all,"  says  Lord 
Bacon,  "believe  it,  the  sweetest  canticle  is  'Nunc 
Dimittis,  when  a  man  hath  obtained  worth}-  ends  and 
expectations  ;  "  but  death  in  the  prime  of  life,  "  Finis" 
written  before  half  the  pages  of  the  book  had  been 
turned,  must  'always  present  itself  to  the  courageous, 
cheerful  mind  as  the  most  terrible  of  catastrophes. 

In  its  most  terrible  form,  the  Hara-kiri  is  of  course  a 
Japanese  evil ;  but  suicide,  alas  !  is  not  peculiar  to  any 
one  country  or  people.  In  the  manner  in  which  they 
view  it,  nations  differ,  —  the  Hindoo,  for  instance,  con- 
templates it  with  apathy,  the  savage  of  the  Congo  with 
pi-ide,  the  Japanese  with  a  stern  sense  of  a  grave  duty, 
the  Englishman  with  horror  and  pit}7,  —  but  the  crime 
has  its  roots  in  all  soils  alike,  and  flourishes  under  all 
skies.  But  that  really  grand  system  of  legalized  self- 
murder  which  was  for  ages  the  privilege  of  all  who  felt 
wounded  in  their  honor,  gives  the  Japanese  a  horrible 
pre-eminence  in  the  Hara-kiri,  and  crime  though  we  call 
it,  there  was  much  to  admire  in  the  stately  heroism  of 
those  orderly  suicides,  notable  for  their  fine  apprecia- 
tion of  the  dignity  of  Death,  their  reverent  courtesy  to 
his  awful  terrors,  and  sublime  scorn  for  pain  of  body. 
From  their  infancy  they  looked  forward  to  suicide  as  a 
terrible  probability,  the  great  event  for  which  through 
the  intervening  years  they  had  to  prepare  themselves. 
They  learned  by  heart  all  the  nice  etiquette  of  the  Hara- 


The  Hara-Kiri  333 


kiri :  how  they  must  do  this,  not  that,  stab  themselves 
from  left  to  right,  and  not  from  right  to  left.  Strangely 
fascinating,  indeed,  are  the  "  Tales  of  Old  Japan,"  and 
among  them  most  terrible  is  the  account  of  "  the  hon- 
orable institution  of  the  Hara-kiri."  I  will  try  ta  de- 
scribe it,  keeping  as  well  as  I  can  the  tone  of  Japanese 
thought :  — 

In  the  days  of  Ashikaga  the  Shiogun,  when  Japan 
was  vexed  by  a  civil  war,  and  prisoners  of  high  rank 
were  every  day  being  put  to  shameful  deaths,  was  in- 
stituted the  ceremonious  and  honorable  mode  of  suicide 
by  disembowelling,  known  as  Seppuku  or  Hara-kiri,  an 
institution  for  which,  as  the  old  Japanese  historian  says, 
"  men  in  all  truth  should  be  very  grateful.  To  put  his 
enemy,  against  whom  he  has  cause  for  enmity,  to  death, 
and  then  to  disembowel  himself,  is  the  duty  of  every 
Samurai." 

Are  you  a  Daimio  or  a  Hatamoto,  or  one  of  the 
higher  retainers  of  the  Shiogun,  it  is  your  proud  priv- 
ilege to  commit  suicide  within  the  precincts  of  the 
palace.  If  you  are  of  an  inferior  rank,  you  may  do  it 
in  the  palace  garden.  Everything  has  been  made  ready 
for  }"ou.  The  white-wanded  enclosure  is  marked  out ; 
the  curtain  is  stretched ;  the  white  cloth,  with  the  soft 
crimson  mats  piled  on  it,  is  spread ;  the  long  wooden 
candlesticks  hold  lighted  tapers;  the  paper  lanterns 
throw  a  faint  light  around.  Behind  yon  paper  screen 
lies  hidden  the  tray  with  the  fatal  knife,  the  bucket  to 
hold  your  head,  the  incense-burner  to  conceal  the  raw 
smell  of  blood,  and  the  basin  of  warm  water  to  cleanse 
the  spot.  With  tender  care  has  been  spread  the  mat- 
ting on  which  you  will  walk  to  the  spot,  so  that  you 


334  Idle  Hours  under  the,  Punkah. 

need  not  wear  your  sandals.  Some  men  when  on  their 
way  to  disembowel  themselves  suffer  from  nervousness, 
so  that  the  sandals  are  liable  to  catch  in  the  matting 
and  trip  them  up.  This  would  not  look  well  in  a  brave 
man,  so  the  matting  is  smoothty  stretched.  Indeed  it  is 
almost  a  pleasure  to  walk  on  it. 

Your  friends  have  come  in  by  the  gate  Umbammon, 
"  the  door  of  the  warm  ba*sin,"  and  are  waiting  in  their 
hempen  dresses  of  ceremony  to  assist  you  to  die  like  a 
man.  You  must  die  as  quickly  too  as  possible,  and 
your  friends  will  be  at  your  elbow  to  see  that  you  do  not 
disgrace  yourself  and  .them  by  fumbling  with  the  knife, 
or  stabbing  yourself  with  too  feeble  a  thrust.  They 
have  made  sure  that  no  such  mishap  shall  befall.  They 
will  be  tenderly  compassionate,  but  terribly  stern. 
They  will  guard  you  while  your  dying  declaration  is 
being  read ;  if  }'ou  are  fainting,  they  will  support  you, 
lest  your  enemies  should  say  }*ou  were  afraid  of  death. 
But  do  not  trust  to  your  old  friendship  with  those 
around  3*011 ;  do  not  try  to  break  away  from  the  sound 
of  those  clearly  spoken  sentences ;  for  if  you  do,  }-our 
friends  will  knock  you  down,  and  while  }-ou  are  grovel- 
ling on  the  mats,  will  hew  your  head  off  with  their 
heavy-handled  swords.  They  will  hold  you  clown  and 
stab  you  to  death.  Remember  this,  —  you  are  to  die, 
but  you  will  not  be  allowed  to  disgrace  yourself. 

You  are  here  an  honored  guest.  The  preparations  for 
your  death  are  worth}'  of  a  Mikado.  But  you  must  not 
presume  upon  the  courtesy  shown  you.  It  is  merely 
one  half  of  a  contract,  the  other  being  that  you  shall 
die  like  a  Samurai.  If  you  shirk  }"our  share  of  the  con- 
tract, your  friends  will  break  theirs,  and  will  strike  you 
to  the  earth  like  the  coward  you  are. 


The  Hara-Kiri.  335 


See,  the  tapers  are  lit!  Are  you  quite  ready  to  die? 
Then  take  j'our  way  along  that  spotless  carpet.  It  will 
lead  you  to  the  "  door  of  the  practice  of  virtue."  Yours 
is  the  place  of  honor  on  the  piled  rugs  —  in  the  centre 
of  your  friends.  How  keenly  they  fix  their  eyes  upon 
you.  It  is  their  duty  to  see  that  you  are  dead  before 
those  tapers  are  out.  Those  tapers  cannot  last  another 
fifteen  minutes.  Be  seated.  Here  is  your  old  school- 
mate, Kotsuke,  corning  to  }'ou  with  the  dreadful  tray. 
How  sternly  his  lips  are  closed  !  You  must  not  speak 
to  him.  Stretch  out  your  hand  to  the  glittering  knife. 
Behind  you,  your  relatives  are  baring  their  strong  arms. 
You  cannot  see  them,  but  they  are  there,  and  their 
heavy-handled  swords  are  poised  above  you.  Stretch 
out  your  hand.  Why  hesitate?  You  must  take  the 
knife.  Have  you  it  firmly  in  your  grasp  ?  Then  strike  ! 
Deep  to  the  handle,  let  the  keen  blade  sink — wait  a 
minute  with  the  knife  in  the  wound  that  all  your  friends 
assembled  in  the  theatre  before  you  may  see  it  is  really 
there  —  now  draw  it  across  your  body  to  the  right  side 
—  turn  the  broad  blade  in  the  wound,  and  now  trail  it 
slowl}7  upwards. 

Are  you  sickening  with  pain  ?  ah !  3'our  head  droops 
forward,  a  groan  is  struggling  through  the  clenched 
teeth,  when  swift  upon  the  bending  neck  descends  the 
merciful  sword  of  a  friend  ! 

A  Samurai  "must  not  be  heard  to  groan  from  pain. 

How  different  from  the  respectful  applause  that  greets 
the  Japanese  self-murderer  is  the  first  sentiment  of 
healthy  aversion  that  is  aroused  in  English  men  and 
women  by  the  news  of  a  suicide.  It  is  true  that  some- 
times, at  the  first  glance,  the  preceding  circumstances 
compel  our  scorn  or  provoke  us  into  only  a  disdainful 


336  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

commiseration  with  the  victim,  but  pit}*  is  sure  to  fol- 
low. For  the  Hara-kiri  is  always  pathetic  ;  and  if  the 
suicide  be  a  woman,  how  tenderly  the  feeling  of  pity  is 
intensified ! 

Take  such  a  case,  for  instance,  as  that  of  Mary  Aird. 
Happily  married,  a  loving  mother,  she  yet  threw  her 
young  life  away  in  a  sudden  impulse  of  groundless 
apprehension  for  the  future. 

Mar}-  Aird's  letter,  in  which  she  announced  to  her 
husband  her  dreadful  intention,  hardly  reads  like  a 
suicide's  last  word  to  those  she  loved  best;  and  the 
miserably  inadequate  reason  she  gives  for  putting  an 
end  to  her  life  makes  the  sad  document  intensely  pa- 
thetic. "  Do  not  think  hardly  of  me,  Will,  when  I  tell 
you  I  am  going  to  throw  myself  over  "\Vestminster 
Bridge.  Look  after  our  two  poor  little  children,  Pop 
and  George,  and  tell  Bessie  I  want  her  to  look  after  them 
for  you.  Cheer  up,  dear  Will ;  you  will  get  on  better 
without  me.  There  will  be  one  trouble  less.  God 
bless  you ! "  Such  a  letter  as  that,  had  that  been  all, 
would  have  gone  far  to  prove  what  some  have  asserted, 
that  suicides  are  not  of  necessity,  and  from  the  fact  alone, 
insane.  But  there  was  a  saving  sentence.  The  poor 
woman  feared  she  could  never  meet  her  household  ex- 
penses, because  a  pitiful  debt  of  six  shillings  had 
"thrown  out  her  accounts  for  the  week.  Moreover," 
said  she,  "troubles  are  coming."  There  really  were  no- 
greater  troubles  than  all  mothers  look  forward  to  with 
hope,  and  back  upon  with  pride.  Yet  Mary  Aird  was 
dismayed  for  the  moment  at  the  thought  of  them,  and 
seeing  before  her  so  easy  a  path  to  instant  and  never- 
ending  rest,  carried  with  her  to  the  grave  the  infant 
that  would  soon  have  owed  her  the  sweet  debt  of  life. 


The  Hara-Kiri.  337 


It  is  impossible,  being  human,  for  any  to  read  the 
brief  stoiy  without  feeling  the  tenderest  pity  for  the 
poor  sister,  wearied  all  of  a  sudden  of  this  working 
world,  fainting  under  the  burden,  as  she  supposed  it,  of 
exceptional,  insurmountable  misfortunes.  Had  any 
one  met  her  on  the  way  to  death,  and,  knowing  her 
case,  offered  her  six  shillings,  she  might  have  perhaps 
turned  back,  and  been  now  the  happy  wife  and  happy 
mother  that  she  was.  She  had  her  secret,  however,  hid- 
den deep  away  in  her  heart  —  the  secret  that,  by  her  own 
death,  she  would  (as  she  thought)  release  those  she 
loved  best  from  many  of  the  troubles  of  life — the  secret 
that  her  duty  to  husband  and  children,  the  "  poor  little 
children  Pop  and  George,"  called  upon  her  for  the  in- 
stant sacrifice  of  her  life !  In  other  forms  the  same 
unhesitating  resignation  of  life  presents  itself  to  us  as 
"  heroism  of  a  grand  t^-pe ;  but  in  the  piteousby  small 
scale  of  the  surrounding  circumstances,  and  even  the 
familiarity  of  the  nature  of  the  death,  the  grandeur  of 
such  a  sacrifice  is  lost,  and  we  feel  only  pity  for  the 
unhappy  creature  thus  needlessl}"  exchanging  her  bright 
home  for  the  grave.  False  sentiment  tempts  men  often 
to  magnify  the  bravery  of  self-inflicted  death,  forgetting 
that  the  insanity  which  makes  suicide  so  pitiful  robs  it 
also  of  all  that  commands  admiration.  In  itself  the 
crime  is  detestable,  not  only  as  high  treason  against 
the  Creator,  inasmuch  as,  to  quote  the  main  argument 
of  the  Pagan  moralists,  we  betra}-  at  the  first  summons 
of  danger  the  life  it  was  given  us  to  guard,  but  also  as 
profaning  the  nobility  of  our  nature.  Man  is  born  with 
the  strong  instinct  of  living,  and,  as  happy,  careless 
childhood  is  left  behind,  serious  and  tender  interests 
grow  round  the  individual  life,  each  of  which  makes  it 

22 


338  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

a  more  precious  possession,  and,  by  admitting  others  to 
share  in  its  troubles  and  joys,  robs  the  owner  of  all 
claim  to  dispose  of  it  as  if  it  were  his  own,  undivided 
and  intact.  In  death  itself  there  is  nothing  for  hopeful 
and  helpful  men  and  women,  the  workers  of  the  world, 
to  be  afraid  of.  Men  fear  death  as  children  fear  to  go 
in  the  dark,  and  with  as  much  reason.  But  this  manly 
disregard  of  superstitious  terrors  should  not  degenerate 
into  the  holding  of  life  cheap,  nor,  under  the  sudden 
pressure  of  unusual  circumstances,  make  us  lose  sight 
of  that  bright  star  of  hope  which,  if  we  will  only  look 
ahead,  shines  always  over  to-morrow. 

To  some  races  such  hopeful  prospects  seem  impossible, 
and,  in  the  East,  especially,  the  first  summons  of  the 
enemy  finds  the  garrison  read}'  to  yield.  This  frequency 
of  suicide,  however,  and  the  general  indifference  to  the 
crime  as  a  crime,  are  among  the  surest  signs  of  iuferi-  * 
orit}r.  All  savage  tribes,  and  even  some'  of  the  nations 
of  the  East,  though  more  advanced  in  civilization,  fly 
to  death  as  the  first  resource  in  trouble.  The}'  seek  the 
relief  of  the  grave  before  having  sought  an}"  other.  But 
the  circumstances  of  their  lives,  with  religion  or  super- 
stition teaching  them  that  fate  predestines  everything, 
and  magnifying  the  most  trivial  occurrences  into  calami- 
ties from  which  there  is  no  appeal,  often  surround  their 
deaths  with  incidents  so  picturesque  and  quaint  that  they 
deceive  the  judgment,  and  exalt  the  paltry  suicide  into 
an  heroic  surrender  of  life. 

Such  a  one  is,  perhaps,  that  student's  death  up  in  the 
cloudy  wilderness  within  Blencathara.  He  had  to  leave 
college  to  go  into  a  trade  that  was  hateful  to  him  ;  but 
rather  than  live  apart  from  his  books,  he  climbed  one 
morning  up  to  the  misty  heights,  taking  with  him  his 


TJie  Hara-Kiri.  339 


jEschylus,  Apollouius,  and  Caesar,  and  having  read 
them  till  daylight  failed,  made  a  last  pillow  for  his  head 
of  the  three  volumes,  and  took  a  fatal  dose  of  laudanum. 
Some  again,  by  the  terrible  blackness  of  the  clouds 
that  had  gathered  over  life,  seem  almost  excused,  as 
the  crime  of  Jocasta  against  herself,  or  the  death  of 
Nero  ;  while  others  —  like  those  of  Dr.  Brown,  who  had 
prognosticated  the  ruin  of  England,  and  was  so  morti- 
fied by  the  brilliant  successes  of  the  Pitt  administration 
that  he  cut  his  throat ;  and  the  Colonel  in  Dr.  Darwin's 
"  Zoonomia,"  who  blew  his  brains  out  because  he  could 
not  eat  muffins  without  suffering  from  indigestion  — 
tend  to  the  positively  ludicrous.  We  are  thus  often  be- 
trayed, from  one  cause  or  another,  into  forgetting  for 
the  moment  that  the  act  of  suicide  is  really  only  one  of 
impatience  with  the  crosses  of  life,  and  a  confession  of 
defeat.  Immeasurably  sad  it  often  is,  as  in  the  case  of 
Mary  Aird ;  but  in  spite  of  the  pathos  surrounding  the 
unhappy  incident  I  have  selected  as  typically  pathetic, 
it  is  better  to  look  at  it  gravely.  We  would,  of  course, 
far  rather  see  in  it  only  a  young  mother  sacrificing  her 
dearest  treasures,  life  and  the  love  of  husband  and  child, 
under  the  delusion  that  her  death  was  for  their  benefit ; 
but  we  are  compelled  to  see  in  it  much  more  than  that. 
Lurking  under  the  delusion  lies  the  faint-hearted  ap- 
prehension that  to-morrow  would  be,  and  must  be,  just 
the  same  as  to-day,  a  fear  of  the  future  that  underlies 
ever}'  wilful  suicide,  and  is  at  once  the  most  disastrous 
and  deplorable  frame  of  the  human  mind.  If  troubles 
are  ahead,  the  more  need  for,  the  more  honor  in,  a  reso- 
lute hold  on  life.  Our  race  does  not  readily  yield  to 
despair,  and  ever}'  suicide  among  us,  even  though  it  be 
a  woman's,  takes  something  therefore  from  our  national 


340  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

character ;  and,  in  spite  of  an  unavoidable  feeling  of 
sincerest  pity  for  those  who  reckon  death  among  the 
boons  of  nature,  we  ought  to  condemn  with  all  our 
hearts  the  ignoble  abandonment  of  life  by  those 
amongst  us  who  have  not  the  courage  to  wait  and  see  if 
to-morrow  will  not  cure  to-day. 


My  Wife's  Birds.  341 


VI. 

MY  WIFE'S  BIRDS. 

A   REMINISCENCE. 

MY  wife  once  made  up  her  mind  that  she  wanted 
a  bird.  She  had,  she  told  me,  many  reasons 
for  wanting  one.  One  was  that  the  landlady's  son  was 
apprenticed  to  a  bird-cage  maker,  and  had  promised  to 
use  all  his  influence  with  his  employer  —  who,  the  land- 
lad}r  told  my  wife,  was  a  very  civil  man  —  to  get  us 
a  cage  cheap.  Another  reason  for  having  a  bird  was 
that  the  old  groundsel  man  at  the  corner  asked  her 
every  day  if  she  would  not  buy  a  penn'orth  of  the 
weed  for  her  dear  little  birds,  and  that  she  felt  an 
impostor  (inasmuch  as  she  had  no  bird)  every  time 
she  met  the  groundsel  man.  „ 

v  But,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "  j7ou  have  not  got  a  bird ; 
and  if  you  only  tell  him  so,  he  will  give  up  annoying 
you." 

"He  does  not  annoy  me  at  all,"  she  replied  ;  "  he  is 
a  very  nice,  respectable  old  man  indeed,  and  I  am  sure 
no  one  could  have  been  angry  at  his  way  of  asking 
you  to  buy  his  groundsel  —  and  then  it  was  so  beauti- 
fully fresh ! " 

' '  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  bought  any  ? "  I 
asked  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  was  the  answer;  "  it  was  so  beauti- 
fully fresh  —  and  I  did  so  want  to  have  a  bird  —  and 


342  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

so,  whenever  I  refuse  to  buy  any  now,  he  thinks  I  am 
too  mean  to  give  my  birds  a  pennyworth  of  groundsel 
now  and  then.  It  is  very  cruel  to  birds  to  keep  them 
without  any  green  food  at  all." 

I  felt  at  the  time  that  there  was  something  wrong 
about  this  line  of  argument,  but  could  not  quite  see 
where  to  fix  the  error  without  going  very  far  back  to 
the  beginning  (though  women,  it  seems  to  me,  always 
do  this) ,  so  I  let  it  pass,  not  thinking  it  worth  while  to 
point  out  again  that,  as  she  had  no  bird,  the  grounsel 
seller's  animadversions  and  suspicions  were  without 
foundation,  and  therefore  absurd. 

And  then  my  wife  went  on  to  give  other  reasons  for 
wanting  to  have  a  bird  ;  but  the  only  one  I  can  remem- 
ber just  now  was  to  the  effect  that  the  bird  would  not 
give  any  trouble  to  anybody  but  herself,  and  that  it 
could  not  possiblj-  matter  to  me  whether  she  had  a  bird 
or  not.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  have  given  that  rea- 
son right,  but  it  is  about  as  near  as  I  generall}-  get  to 
some  of  my  wife's  reasons  for  things. 

"  It  will,  you  see,"  she  repeated,  as  she  cracked  an 
egg,  "be  no  trouble  to  anybody  but  myself.  I  will 
look  after  it  im~self  and  —  " 

"The  Lord  in  His  pitiful  mercy  keep  an  eye  upon 
that  bird ! "  I  piousty  ejaculated. 

"  Oh,  John  !  — and  of  course  I  will  feed  it  and  wash 
it  —  its  cage,  I  mean  ;  not  feed  the  cage,  you  know,  but 
wash  it :  and  when  I  go  out  to  do  the  housekeeping  for 
ourselves,"  —  which,  by  the  wa}*,  always  seems  to  me 
to  consist  in  meeting  friends  at  the  gate  and  then  going 
off  with  them  to  look  at  new  music,  — "I  will  do  the 
bird's  housekeeping,  too." 

Now,  I  really  never  had  an}*  objection  to  a  bird  from 


My  Wife's  Birds.  343 

the  first.  On  the  contrar}*,  I  like  birds,  —  little  ones. 
But  my  wife  has,  all  through,  insisted  on  it  that  I  do 
not  love  "  God's  creatures,"  as  she  calls  them,  and  took 
from  the  first  a  certain  complacent  pride  in  having  made 
me  more  Christian-like  in  this  matter.  "  You  won't  hurt 
it,  will  you,  John?"  she  pleaded,  pathetically,  when  she 
hung  up  a  linnet. 

" Hurt  it !  "  I  said,  in  astonishment,  for  I  am  a  very 
Buddhist  in  my  tenderness  to  animals.  "  On  the  con- 
trary —  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know  how  you  hate  them;  and  you  are 
a  sweet,  good  old  darling  to  say  you  love  them,  just  to 
please  me." 

"You  are  quite  mistaken,"  I  began,  "in  suppos- 
ing-" 

"No,  I  am  not,  you  good  old  duck,  for  you  always 
pretended  just  in  the  same  way  that  you  liked  Lucy  (my 
wife's  cousin),  though  I  know  you  don't,  for  soon  after 
we  were  married,  I  remember  you  called  her  a  gadabout 
and  a  gossip." 

And  the  end  of  it  was  that  I  was  mean  enough  to 
accept  the  virtues  of  self-denial  and  consideration  thus 
thrust  upon  me.  Consequently,  I  have  had  ever  since 
to  affect  a  condescension  whenever  I  take  notice  of  the 
birds,  although  when  my  wife  is  not  there  I  waste  a 
good  deal  of  time  over  the  pretty  things. 

But  "  God's  creatures,"  after  all,  is  a  term  that  you 
can  lump  most  things  under.  And  if  my  wife  had  drawn 
a  distinction  between  the  linnet  and  her  great  parrot, 
more  like  a  vulture  than  a  cage-bird,  I  would  have  can- 
didly confessed  to  a  difference  in  my  regard  for  the  two 
fowls.  Linnets  are  very  harmless,  I  fancy.  At  any 
rate,  ours  .never  does  anything  more  outrageous  than 


344  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

splash  its  water  and  seed  about  of  a  morning.  For  the 
rest  of  the  clay  it  is  mostly  hopping  off  the  floor  on  to 
the  perch  and  back  again,  except  when  yon  go  to  look 
at  it  close.  It  then  hops  only  sideways  off  the  perch 
on  to  the  wires  of  the  cage,  and  back  again. 

But  the  parrot!  It  is  dead  now — and  it  took  as 
much  burying  as  a  horse  —  was  more  of  a  reptile  than 
a  bird,  I  should  say.  At  any  rate,  it  had  very  few 
feathers  on  it  after  a  bit,  and  the  way  it  worried  my 
wife's  Maltese  terrier  was  most  unusual,  I  fancy,  in  a 
bird.  The  first  time  it  pounced  down  on  Tiny,  who  was 
only  going  to  eat  some  of  the  parrot's  pudding,  we 
thought  it  was  going  to  eat  the  dog,  though  I  found,  on 
looking  it  up  since,  that  parrots  never  eat  other  animals, 
as  vultures  and  other  birds  do  sometimes.  But  it  wasn't. 
It  was  only  pulling  fluff  off  the  dog.  But  Tiny's  fluff 
grows  so  fast,  and  he  is  so  light,  that  we  generally  pick 
him  up  by  it.  And  so,  when  the  parrot  began  to  pull 
at  it,  it  rolled  the  dog  all  about,  and  as  one  of  the  bird's 
claws  got  caught  in  the  fluff  of  the  dog  and  the  other  in 
the  fluff  of  the  hearth-rug,  they  got  rolled  up  in  the  cor- 
ner of  it,  —  the  terrier  and  the  parrot  together  ;  and  the 
noises  that  proceeded  from  those  two,  and  the  confusion 
there  was  of  hearth-rug  and  fluff  and  feathers,  defies  all 
description.  Getting  them  unmixed  took  us  ever  so 
long.  We  had  first  of  all  to  give  the  parrot  a  spoon 
to  hold  in  its  mouth,  and  then  a  fork  in  one  claw,  while 
we  undid  the  other.  And  as  soon  as  it  was  undone,  it 
got  its  claw' fixed  round  my  thumb,  and  then,  dropping 
the  spoon,  it  took  hold  of  my  cuff  with  its  beak.  And 
when  I  had  got  the  bird  off  me,  it  got  fastened  on  to  my 
wife  ;  for  the  thing  was  so  frightened  at  itself,  it  wanted 
something,  it  didn't  matter  what,  to  hold  on  to.  But 


My  Wife's  Birds.  345 


at  last  we  got  it  on  to  the  curtains,  and  there  it  hung 
half  the  morning,  saying  to  itself,  as  it  always  does 
when  it's  put  out,  "Polly's  very  sick;  poor  Polly's 
going  to  die."  Tiny,  in  the  mean  time,  had  disappeared 
into  the  scullery  under  the  sink,  and  to  the  last  day  of 
the  parrot's  life,  whenever  the  dog  heard  the  parrot 
scream,  it  used  to  make  for  the  same  spot.  And  as  the 
parrot  was  mostly  screeching  all  da}',  the  dog  pretty 
well  lived  under  the  sink.  But  the  parrot  died  at  last, 
poor  beast. 

The  few  feathers  it  had  on  must  have  had  something 
to  do  with  it,  I  fancy.  If  I  were  a  bird,  I  know,  and 
had  so  few  feathers,  I  should  die  too.  It  does  not 
seem  much  worth  living  with  so  few  on.  One  could 
hardly  call  one's  self  a  bird. 

So  one  evening,  when  I  came  home,  I  found  Jenn}-  in 
tears,  and  there  on  the  hearth-rug,  was  the  poor  old 
parrot,  dead,  and  about  as  bald  as  a  bird  could  be  — 
except  in  a  pie.  I  asked  Jenny  how  it  all  happened  ; 
but  she  couldn't  speak  at  first  for  ciying,  and  when  she 
did  tell  me,  it  was  heart-breaking  to  hear  her  sobs  be- 
tween the  words. 

"  You  know,"  she  began,  "  Polly  hasn't  been  eating 
enough  for  a  long  time,  and  to-day,  when  I  came  in 
from  my  housekeeping,  I  saw  him  looking  very  sad 
about  something.  So  I  called  him,  and  he  came  down 
off  his  perch.  But  he  couldn't  hop  ;  he  was  too  weak, 
so  he  walked  quite  slowly  across  the  floor  to  me  —  and 
so  unsteadily !  I  knew  there  was  something  dreadful 
going  to  happen.  And  when  he  got  to  my  feet  he 
couldn't  climb  up  my  dress  as  he  generally  does.  And 
I  said  to  him,  '  Polly,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ? '  and 
he  said  "  —  but  here  she  broke  down  altogether  for  a  bit 


346  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

—  "  and  he  looked  up  at  me  and  said,  '  Polly's  very  sick.' 
And  when  I  picked  him  up  he  was  as  light  as  —  oh  !  so 
light.  And  he  sat  on  my  lap  without  moving,  only 
breathing  very  hard.  And  then  after  a  little,  I  saw  his 
head  drooping,  so  I  touched  him  to  wake  him  up.  And 
he  started  up,  and  shook  himself  so  hard  that  he  rolled 
over  on  his  side,  and  then  I  heard  him  saying  something 
to  himself,  so  I  put  down  my  head  to  listen.  And  he 
opened  his  e}-e  again  quite  wide,  and  looked  at  me  just 
as  if  he  knew  who  I  was  quite- well,  and  whispered  to  me, 
'poor  Polly's  going  to  die.'  And  then  he  shut  his  wings 
up  tight,  and  stretched  out  one  leg  after  the  other  — 
and  —  and  died." 

I  was  very  sorry  for  it,  after  he  was  really  dead,  for 
Jenny  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  the  parrot,  I  think, 
was  very  fond  of  her.  So  when  I  looked  round  and 
saw  Tiny  eating  the  dead  bird's  pudding,  I  gave  a 
screech  like  the  parrot  used  to  give,  and  the  little  wretch 
shot  off  in  a  flurry  of  fluff  to  the  sink,  where  we  let  him 
stay  until  we  had  buried  poor  Polly  under  the  laurel- 
tree.  -Jenny  proposed  to  have  it  stuffed  ;  but  consider- 
ing the  proposal  of  stuffing  such  a  naked  bird  absurd,  I 
evaded  the  suggestion,  nor  did  she  press  it. 

But  all  this  time  I  have  been  anticipating  a  great  deal. 
It  was  the  first  mention  of  the  parrot  that  set  me  off  on 
the  digression.  I  have  not  yet  told  you  how  my  wife 
got  her  birds,  or  what  birds  she  has  got. 

Well,  I  had  given  n^y  consent,  you  remember,  to  a 
bird  being  bought ;  so  immediately  after  breakfast,  mj7 
wife  went  out  to  choose  one  —  "  a  little  one,"  she  said. 
But  before  she  went  out  she  confided  her  want  to  the 
landlady,  who,  going  out  herself  soon  after,  also  in- 
terested herself  in  the  selection,  and  told  a  few  bird- 


My  Wife's  Birds.  347 


fanciers  to  send  up  some  birds  to  look  at  —  little  ones  ; 
moreover,  before  going  out,  she  told  her  son  that  my 
wife  wanted  a  bird  —  a  little  one  —  so  when  he  went  to 
the  cage-maker's  he  mentioned  the  fact,  and  during  the 
day  the  cage-maker  told  about  twenty  bird-fanciers  who 
came  in  on  business  that  he  could  put  them  in  the  way 
of  a  customer  —  meaning  my  wife.  "  She  wants  a  little 
bird,"  he  said. 

Well,  I  woke  next  morning  a  little  earlier  than  usual, 
and  with  a  vague  general  feeling  that  I  was  somewhere 
in  the  country  —  probably  at  my  uncle's.  All  the  air, 
outside  seemed  to  be  full  of  twittering,  just  as  I  remem- 
bered hearing  in  the  early  mornings  at  my  uncle's  place 
in  the  country  where  sparrows  were  as  thick  as  the  leaves 
in  the  ivy  on  the  house,  and  the  robins  and  wrens,  and 
those  kinds  of  birds,  used  to  swarm  in  the  shrubbery. 
My  wife  was  awake  too,  and  as  soon  as  she  found  me 
stirring  she  began  (as  she  does  on  most  mornings)  to 
tell  me  a  dream.  I  always  find  that  other  people's 
dreams  haven't,  as  a  rule,  much  plot  in  them,  and  so 
they  don't  tell  well.  Things  always  seem  to  come  about 
and  end  up  somehow  without  much  reason. 

And  what  my  wife's  dream  was  about  I  did  not  ex- 
actly understand  at  the  time,  but  it  was  about  the  Tropi- 
cal Court  at  the  Crystal  Palace.  She  dreamt  that  it 
was  on  fire,  and  all  the  parrots  had  gone  mad  with 
fright  and  were  flying  about,  and  so  she  ran  clown  to  the 
station,  with  all  the  creatures  after  her;  but  there  was 
no  room  for  her  in  the  train,  as  all  the  parrots,  and  love- 
birds, and  lories,  and  paroquets,  and  cockatoos,  and 
macaws  of  the  Palace  were  scrambling  for  places,  and 
there  was  such  a  noise  and  flurrying  of  feathers  she  was 
quite  bewildered ;  and  though  she  told  the  guard  that 


348  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

the  birds  were  travelling  without  tickets,  he  only  called 
out  "  all  right,"  to  the  engine  driver,  and  the  train 
started  off.  But  this  frightened  all  the  birds  so  that 
they  came  streaming  out  through  the  windows  and  lamp- 
holes,  and  flew  about  the  station  till  it  looked  as  if  all 
the  colors  out  of  the  advertisements  had  got  loose  and 
were  flying  around  in  strips  and  patches  !  And  so  she 
ran  upstairs  to  the  omnibus,  but  all  the  cockatoos  and 
things  went  with  her,  and  it  was  just  the  same  here,  for 
when  she  was  going  to  get  in,  the  conductor  said  it  was 
full  inside,  though,  when  she  looked  at  the  window  she 
couldn't  see  a  soul,  but  when  she  opened  the  door  and 
looked  in  she  found  it  was  full  of  parrots  and  macaws  ; 
and  though  she  warned  the  conductor  that  none  of  the 
birds  had  got  any  money,  he  did  not  seem  to  take  any 
notice  of  her,  and  only  sounded  his  bell,  and  so  the  'bus 
started.  But  this  frightened  the  birds  again,  so  that  they 
all  came  streaming  out  through  the  door,  and  flew  up 
the  street  with  her  to  the  cab-stand ;  and  there  it  was 
just  the  same  —  and  everywhere  all  day  it  was  just  the 
same  ;  but  though  she  kept  trying  to  explain  to  people, 
in  an  exasperated  and,  she  felt,  unsatisfactory  way, 
that  it  was  absurd  and  unreasonable  for  all  these  birds, 
which  she  had  nothing  to  do  with,  to  be  following  her 
about  so,  no  one  took  any  adequate  interest  in  the  mat- 
ter, or  seemed  to  think  it  at  all  irregular  or  annoying. 
Her  conversations  on  the  subject  with  policemen  were 
equalty  inconclusive  and  absurd ;  and  so  the  day  went 
on  —  and  very  exhausting  it  was,  she  said,  with  the 
eternal  clamor  of  the  birds,  and  the  smothering  feeling 
of  having  a  cloud  of  feathery  things  fluttering  round 
you,  and  so  — 

I  had  been  listening  all  this  time  after  only  a  very 


My  Wife's  Birds.  349 


drowsy  fashion,  but  while  she  talked  there  stole  over  pie 
an  impression  that  there  was  a  strange  confusion  of  bird 
voices  about  the  premises,  and  just  as  she  had  got  to 
the  words  ic  and  so,"  and  was  taking  breath  to  remem- 
ber what  happened  next  in  her  dream,  there  came  from 
down  below  a  very  babel  of  fowls'  languages.  In  every 
tongue  spoken  by  birds  from  China  to  Peru,  we  heard 
screams,  squeaks,  hootings,  and  Growings,  while  behind 
and  through  all  we  were  aware  of  a  multitudinous  chat- 
tering, twittering  and  chirping,  accompanied  by  a.  sober 
obligate  of  cooing.  I  stared  at  my  wife  and  she  at  me. 
Was  I  asleep? 

Pinching  is  a  good  thing,  I  remembered,  so  I 
pinched  my  wife.  There  was  no  doubt  of  her  being 
awake.  I  told  her  apologetically  that  I  had  pinched 
her  in  order  to  see  if  I  was  awake,  and  she  was  begin- 
ning to  explain  to  me  that  I  ought  to  have  pinched 
myself ;  when  we  heard  a  knock  at  the  door.  "  If  you 
please,  sir"  (it  was  Mary),  "  but  has  a  cockytoo  gone 
into  your  dressing-room?  It's  got  away  from  the  bird- 
man,  —  which,  sir,  if  you  please  there's  several  of  them 
at  the  door ! " 

All  the  time  I  was  dressing  the  volucrine  clamor  con- 
tinued unabated,  and  when  I  came  downstairs  I  was  not 
surprised  at  the  sight  that  awaited  me.  The  passage 
was  filled  with  bird-cages  ;  and  through  the  front  door, 
which  was  open,  I  saw  that  the  front  "garden"  was 
filled  also,  and  that  round  the  railings  had  collected  a 
considerable  mob  of  children,  whitewashes'  assistants, 
and  errand-boys.  I  went  to  the  dining-room  window 
and  looked  out.  My  appearance  was  the  signal  for 
every  bird-man  to  seize  at  once  two  cages  and  hold 


350  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

them  up  for  inspection.  The  contents  of  the  cages 
screamed  wildly ;  all  their  friends  on  the  ground 
screamed  in  S3'mpath3',  and  the  mob  outside  cheered 
the  birds  on  to  further  demonstrations,  by  ill-naturedly 
imitating  various  cries. 

I  kept  away  from  the  window,  therefore,  and  waited 
till  my  wife  came  down.  Her  delight  at  the  exhibition 
seemed  to  me  a  little  misplaced,  the  more  so  as  she  in- 
sisted on  holding  a  levee  at  once.  I  began  m}-  break- 
fast therefore  alone,  but  I  hope  I  may  never  have  such 
a  meal  again.  Ever}' other  bird,  being  warranted  tame, 
was  allowed  to  leave  its  cage,  and  very  soon  there  was 
a  parrot  in  the  sugar  basin,  three  macaws  on  the  chan- 
deliers, and  a  cockatoo  on  the  back  of  each  chair.  The 
food  on  the  table  attracted  a  jackdaw,  who  dragged  a 
rasher  of  bacon  into  the  jelly-glass  before  his  designs 
were  suspected,  and  one  wretched  bird  finding  me  out 
under  the  table,  climbed  up  the  leg  of  my  trousers  by 
his  beak  and  claws.  But  my  wife  got  bewildered  at 
last,  and  appealed  to  me  to  settle  matters.  I  did  so 
summarily  by  explaining  that  m}~  wife  wanted  only  one 
bird,  and  that  a  little  one,  —  "  a  linnet  or  something  of 
that  kind." 

The  disgust  of  the  bird  fanciers  was  instantly  visible, 
and  ever}-  man  proceeded  gloomily  to  repossess  himself 
of  his  property.  This  was  not  so  easy,  however,  as  let- 
ting the  birds  go,  and  entailed  an  hour's  hunting  of  par- 
rots from  corner  to  corner.  Two  cockatoos  slipped 
down  behind  the  sideboard  and  proceeded  to  fight 
there.  They  were  only  got  out  after  moving  the  side- 
board (the  contents  being  previously  taken  out) ,  and 
when  they  appeared  were  dirty  be3-ond  recognition  and 
covered  with  cobwebs  and  fluff.  But  we  found  a  long- 


My  Wife's  Birds.  351 


missing  salt  spoon.  At  last,  however,  all  seemed  satis- 
factorily disposed  of,  when  it  was  discovered  that  one 
of  the  cages  was  still  empty,  and  a  pensive  voice  from 
the  chandelier  drew  all  eyes  upward.  It  was  then  dis- 
covered that  a  parrot  had  got  its  body  inside  one  of 
the  globes,  and  I  volunteered  to  release  it.  So  stand- 
ing up  on  a  chair,  1  took  hold  of  the  protruding  tail 
and  lifted  the  bird  out.  No  sooner,  however,  did  it 
find  itself  released  than  it  made  one  violent  effort  to 
escape,  and  succeeded,  leaving  the  tail  in  my  hands  ! 

I  hastened  to  apologize  and  to  offer  the  owner  the 
tail,  but  the  man  would  not  accept  either  the  apolog}*  or 
the  feathers.  On  the  contrary,  he  insisted  that  as  I  had 
spoiled  the  bird  for  sale  I  ought  now  to  buy  it. 

And  thus  it  was  that  we  became  possessed  of  the  bird 
whose  death  I  have  already  narrated.  At  first  it  had  a 
dog's  life  of  it.  I  was  very  angry  with  it  for  foisting 
itself  upon  me  ;  my  wife  disliked  it  for  its  tailless  con- 
dition ;  while  the  parrot  itself  suspected  both  of  us  as 
having  designs  upon  its  remaining  feathers.  But  my 
wife's  heart  warmed  to  it  at  last,  and  the  bird  recipro- 
cated the  attachment.  And  when  it  died  we  were  really 
sorry,  and  so,  I  think,  was  the  parrot. 

Meanwhile  my  wife  was  not  satisfied  with  the  pur- 
chase, and  proceeded  to  select  another  bird  for  her- 
self. The  result  was  a  canary,  as  I  feared ;  and  lest 
the  canary  should  be  dull  with  only  the  parrot,  a  bull- 
finch was  also  bought ;  and  finally,  for  no  better  reason 
that  I  saw  than  that  "it  would  be  just  as  easy  to  at- 
tend to  three  birds  as  to  two,"  a  linnet.  Of  course 
the  canary  proved  to  be  a  hen  bird,  and  the  linnet,  I 
still  believe,  is  a  sparrow.  But  of  the  bullfinch  there 
can  be  no  doubt.  He  looks  a  bullfinch  all  over. 


352  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

The  bullfinch  had  only  just  been  caught.  I  thought 
this  a  point  against  the  bird.  But  my  wife  thought  it 
all  in  its  favor.  "  For  now,"  she  said,  "  we  can  train 
it  exactly  as  we  like." 

Meanwhile  the  bird,  being  quite  uneducated,  was 
dashing  about  in  its  cage,  and  little  feathers  came  float- 
ing down,  and  all  the  cage  furniture  was  in  a  heap  in 
the  corner.  There  was  evidently  a  very  clear  field  for 
instruction,  and  my  wife  was  eager  to  begin  at  once. 

"  Bullfinches  are  very  fond  of  hemp  seeds,"  said  she 
oracularly,  and  proceeded  to  offer  one  to  the  bird.  The 
result  was  eminently  discouraging,  for  the  terrified  crea- 
ture went  into  fits.  For  a  time  my  wife  was  very 
patient,  and  stood  there  with  the*  slippery  little  seed 
between  her  fingers.  The  bird,  exhausted  at  last  with 
its  frantic  efforts  at  escape,  was  on  the  floor  of  the  cage, 
panting  from  fear  and  fatigue. 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  get  quite  tame,"  said  my  wife, 
inspirited  by  this  cessation  of  the  bird's  struggles. 
"  Pretty  Bully ;"  and  she  changed  the  seed  to  the  left 
hand,  for  the  other  was  tired.  The  motion  was  suffi- 
cient, however,  to  set  the  bird  off  in  another  paroxysm 
of  fluttering,  to  which  in  the  same  way  succeeded 
another  relapse.  And  so  it  went  on  for  half  an  hour, 
this  contest  between  the  wild  thing's  terror  and  the 
woman's  patience.  And  the  bird  won  the  day. 

"  You  are  a  very  stupid  little  bird,"  said  my  wife 
solemnly  and  emphatically  to  the  open-beaked  creature, 
as  she  withdrew  from  the  strife  to  make  acquaintance 
with  the  canary. 

The  canary  was  of  another  sort  altogether,  an  old 
hen  bird,  born  and  bred  in  captivity,  an  artificial  person 
without  a  scrap  of  soul. 


My  Wife's  Birds.  353 

Nor  did  its  vocal  accomplishments  recommend  it; 
for  being  a  hen  it  only  chirped,  and  being  very  old,  it 
did  this  drearily.  My  wife  resolved,  therefore,  to 
change  it.  She  was  offered  ninepence  for  it,  and  in- 
dignantly refused  the  sum.  Finally,  she  allowed  it  to 
go,  with  seven  and  sixpence  added,  in  exchange  for  a 
young  cock  bird. 

The  linnet  meanwhile  had  moulted,  and  as  its  new 
feathers  were  a  long  time  coming,  it  came  to  be  looked 
upon  as  a  shabby  creature  and  the  inferior  among  our 
pets.  It  did  not  resent  the  invidious  comparison  nor 
retaliate  for  the  evident  preference  shown  to  the  rest, 
but  sitting  on  its  perch  at  the  back  window,  chuckled 
good-naturedly  to  itself  all  day  long,  going  to  sleep 
early,  and  growing  prodigiously  plump. 

The  bullfinch  and  canary,  however,  became  soon  part 
of  our  lives,  and  every  new  habit  or  prettiness  was  noted 
and  cherished.  Both  were  easily  tamed.  A  friend  came 
in  one  da}',  and,  going  to  speak  to  the  bullfinch,  was 
shocked  at  its  wildness. 

"  WLn~  don't  you  tame  it?"  he  asked. 

"How  ?"  inquired  my  wife.  "I  have  been  trying 
hard,  but  I  don't  think  they  will  ever  begin  to  care  for 
me." 

"  Oh  !  starve  them,"  was  the  reply. 

' '  Starve  them !  never !  "  said  my  wife  firmly. 

But  I  made  a  note  of  the  advice,  and  that  very  after- 
noon, as  soon  as  1113*  wife  had  left  the  luncheon  table,  I 
nearly  emptied  the  seed-boxes  into  the  fire.  Next  morn- 
ing my  wife  noticed,  without  suspecting  am'thing,  how 
completely  the  birds  had  eaten  up  their  allowances.  I 
was  of  course  absorbed  in  my  newspaper.  But  when 
my  wife  went  out  to  do  her  housekeeping,  I  took  the 

23 


354  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

liberty  of  turning  round  the  seed-boxes,  so  that  the  birds, 
who  meanwhile  had  been  eating  voraciously,  could  get 
no  more.  The  barbarous  fact  escaped  observation,  and, 
remorse  gnawing  at  my  heart,  I  awaited  the  morrow 
with  anxiety.  Would  the  birds  be  tame?  But  the 
thought  kept  recurring  to  me  in  the  night  watches  — 
would  they  be  dead?  They  were  not  dead,  however:  on 
the  contrary,  they  were  very  much  alive.  Indeed  their 
extraordinary  sprightliness  attracted  my  wife's  atten- 
tion, and  all  through  breakfast  she  kept  drawing  my 
attention  to  the  conversation  being  kept  up  by  the  two 
birds. 

"  How  happy  they  are  together ! "  she  said.  "  And 
how  huugr\' !  "  I  thought. 

Breakfast  over,  she  proceeded  to  attend  to  her  birds, 
and  then  the  turned  boxes  were  discovered. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  "how  stupid  I  have  been!  Just 
imagine,  these  poor  birds  have  had  no  seed  all  day  !  I 
forgot  to  turn  their  seed-boxes  round !  " 

I  cut  short  her  self-reproaches  and  expressions  of 
sympathy. 

"Never  mind,  dear:  it  has  done  them  no  harm 
apparently.  Besides,  we  can  see  now  whether  starving 
does  realty  tame  them.  Offer  the  bullfinch  a  hemp  seed 
in  3*our  fingers." 

And  the  great  experiment  was  tried.  I  approached  to 
watch.  The  hungry  bird  recognized  his  favorite  morsel, 
but  the  fingers  had  still  terrors  for  his  untutored  mind. 
"  Have  a  little  patience,"  I  said,  as  I  saw  my  wife's  face 
clouding.  The  bullfinch  mind  was  grievousty  agitated. 
He  was  verj7  hungry,  and  there  close  to  him  was  a 
hemp  seed.  But  then  it  was  in  those  dangerous-looking 
hands.  An  empty  stomach  and  timid  heart  fought  out 


My  Wife's  Birds.  355 

the  point  between  them,  but  the  engagement  was  obsti- 
nately contested.  The  issue  trembled  a  thousand  times 
in  the  balance.  The  bullfinch,  after  sitting  for  ten  min- 
utes with  his  head  very  much  on  one  side,  would  sidle 
up  to  the  hemp  seed  and  seem  on  the  very  point  of  tak- 
ing it,  when  a  movement  of  the  dog  on  the  hearth-rug, 
or  the  opening  of  a  door,  would  startle  it  into  its  orig- 
inal alarm.  My  wife  held  out  bravety,  and  her  patience 
was  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  rewarded.  The  bull- 
finch had  evidently  thought  the  matter  out  to  the  end, 
and  had  decided  that  death  by  starvation  was  prefer- 
able to  tempting  the  terrors  of  the  pretty  fingers  that 
offered  him  food.  He  was  sitting  gloomily  at  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  perch.  But,  on  a  sudden  —  perhaps  it 
was  a  twinge  inside  —  he  brightened  up,  pulled  himself 
together,  and  with  a  desperate  effort  pecked  at  the  seed. 
He  did  not  get  it,  but  the  effort  had  broken  the  spell, 
and  he  soon  returned  emboldened,  and  taking  more  de- 
liberate aim  this  time,  extracted  the  prize.  After  this 
it  was  plain  sailing,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  morning, 
my  wife  was  busy  feeding  the  domesticated  bullfinch 
from  her  fingers.  Meanwhile,  the  canary  had  taken 'its 
first  lesson,  and  whether  it  was  that  hunger  was  more 
overpowering,  or  that  (as  has  since  proved  the  case)  it 
took  the  bullfinch  for  its  model,  it  ate  from  the  hand  as  if 
to  the  manner  born.  The  success  was  complete,  and  my 
wife  set  apart  to-morrow  for  another  starvation  prepara- 
tor}r  to  further  instruction.  But  her  heart  was  too  soft, 
and  to  this  da3*  the  birds  have  never  been  stinted  again. 
Their  education,  therefore,  began  and  ended  together. 
But  I  cannot  sa}*  that  I  am  sorry  ;  for  I  can  think  of  no 
accomplishment  that  would  make  them  more  charming 
company.  The  cage  doors  are  always  open,  and  the 


356  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

small  creatures  spend  their  day  as  they  choose,  the  bull- 
finch climbing  about  among  the  picture  cords,  the 
canary  gazing  upon  his  own  reflection  in  the  mirror. 

Their  characters  have  developed  in  this  freedom,  and 
their  individuality  is  as  comic  as  it  is  well  defined. 
The  bullfinch,  sturdy  of  bod}*,  bull-necked,  and  thick- 
legged,  ranges  the  room  as  if  all  it  contained  was  his 
own  by  right  of  conquest.  There  is  not  an  article  in  it 
which  he  does  not  make  use  of  as  a  perch  or  plaything, 
and  in  every  gesture  shows  himself  at  home  and  in  pos- 
session. As  soon  as  the  loaf  is  put  down  on  the  table, 
he  hops  on  to  it,  and  when  my  wife  replaces  the  milk- 
jug,  he  perches  upon  that.  From  there  to  the  nearest 
tea-cup  is  only  a  short  hop,  and  so  he  makes  the  round 
of  the  breakfast  table.  When  the  cloth  is  removed,  he 
waits,  chirping  impatiently  for  his  groundsel,  and  even 
before  it  can  be  arranged  for  him,  he  is  in  the  thick  of 
it,  his  beak  stuffed  with  the  flossy  flower-heads.  The 
bath,  meanwhile,  is  being  prepared,  and  no  sooner  is  \t 
down  on  the  ground  than  he  perches  on  the  edge,  tests 
its  temperature,  and  pronounces  his  approval  —  but 
does  not  often  bathe.  His  seed-box  has  meanwhile 
been  replenished,  and  in  it  every  morning  are  put  a 
few  hemp  seeds.  No  sooner. is  it  in  the  cage,  than  the 
bullfinch  has  gone  in,  and  plunging  his  head  down  into 
the  seed,  is  busy  picking  out  the  favorite  grains.  Lest 
one  should  be  concealed  at  the  bottom,  he  jerks  out  as 
much  of  the  contents  as  he  can,  and  deliberately  empties 
the  remainder  by  beakfuls.  Satisfied  that  no  hemp  seed 
remains,  he  comes  out,  and  flying  to  the  nearest  picture, 
commences  the  gymnastics  that  occup}'  the  greater  part 
of  the  da}'.  By  sunset  he  is  always  back  in  his  cage 
again,  and  when  my  wife  goes  to  shut  his  door,  he 


My  Wife's  Birds.  357 

opens  his  beak  at  her  threateningly,  showing  a  ridicu- 
lous pink  throat,  and  hissing  like  a  miniature  goose. 
This  is  not  the  routine  of  any  particular  day,  but  of 
every  da}-,  and  so  completely  has  he  asserted  his  posi- 
tion as  one  of  the  family,  that  the  ornaments  are  ar- 
ranged in  reference  to  his  tastes,  and  when  I  talked  of 
removing  the  picture  from  over  the  door,  the  project 
was  at  once  thrown  aside,  "  for  that  is  Bully's  favorite 
perch." 

The  canary  is  a  curious  contrast.  He  has  as  much 
spirit  as  the  bullfinch,  for  he  resented  the  first  attempt 
at  oppression  — •  it  was  a  question  of  priority  of  bathing 
—  with  such  elan,  that  the  bullfinch  ceased  from  troub- 
ling, and  the  two  are  close  friends  on  the  honorable 
terms  of  mutual  respect.  But  the  canary  is  conciliatory 
and  retiring.  He  comes  on  the  breakfast  table  when  it 
takes  his  fancy  to  do  so,  but  he  does  so  unobtrusively, 
with  all  the  ease  of  manner  that  betokens  confidence, 
and  yet  with  all  the  reserve  and  modesty  of  a  gentle- 
man. If  he  wishes  for  a  crumb  he  takes  it,  but  instead 
of  hopping  on  the  loaf  for  it,  he  reaches  it  off  the  plat- 
ter from  the  table.  His  day  is  spent  before  a  looking- 
glass,  in  which  he  studies  his  own  features  and  gestures, 
not  unhappuy,  but  quietly,  as  his  waj'  is.  A  jar  that 
holds  spills  is  his  usual  resort,  and,  perched  on  it,  he 
exercises  himself  in  the  harmless  practice  of  pulling  out 
the  spills.  He  has  never  succeeded,  but  this  does  not 
damp  his  indusfay.  For  groundsel  he  has  as  great  a 
partiality  as  the  bullfinch,  but  he  waits  for  his  share  till 
it  is  put  in  his  cage,  and  then  only  goes  in  at  his  leisure. 
The  bath  is  a  passion  with  him,  and  his  energy  in  the 
water  fills  the  bullfinch — who  more  often  makes  believe 
than  really  bathes  —  with  such  amazement,  that  while 


358  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

the  flurry  and  splash  is  going  on  he  watches  the  canary 
with  all  his  eyes.  The  canary  sings  beautifully,  not 
with  the  student  note  that  in  the  trained  bird  makes  a 
room  uninhabitable,  but  a  soft,  untutored  song  that 
nature  whispered  to  him  bar  by  bar,  and  so  sweet  is  it 
that  the  matter-of-fact  bullfinch  always  listens  with  at- 
tention, until,  remembering  his  own  powers,  he  settles 
down  in  a  ball  of  feathers  on  some  favorite  vase,  and 
chuckles  obstinately  through  a  rustic  lay.  But  my  wife 
ought  to  have  written  the  account  of  her  own  birds  her- 
self, for  she  knows  them  better  than  I. 

And  the  little  things  have  found  out  how  gentle  and 
loving  she  is  to  God's  creatures ;  and  when  the  room 
is  quiet,  and  she  is  sitting  working,  the  bullfinch  will 
leave  off  his  scrambling  among  the  picture  cords,  and 
the  canary  his  fruitless  tugging  at  the  spills,  to  sit  down 
on  her  lap  and  shoulder,  and  tell  her,  as  they  best  can, 
how  fond  the}'  are  of  her. 

For  me  they  entertain  only  a  distant  regard  ;  but  I 
like  them  immensely  for  all  that.  At  an}-  rate,  though 
I  speak  of  them  as  my  wife's  birds,  I  should  feel  hurt  if 
any  one  thought  that  they  were  not  my  birds  too. 


The  Legend  of  the  Blameless  Priest.  359 


VII. 
THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  BLAMELESS  PRIEST.1 

YEARS  upon  years  ago,  when  all  the  world  was 
young,  when  Atlantis  was  among  the  chief  is- 
lands of  it,  and  the  Aryans  had  not  3ret  descended 
from  their  cradle  on  the  roof  of  the  world,  there  wan- 
dered up  past  the  sources  of  the  sleep)'  Nile  the  patriarch 
Kintu  and  his  wife.  For  many  months  he  travelled,  he 
and  his  old  wife,  their  one  she-goat,  and  one  cow,  and 
carrying  with  them  one  banana  and  one  sweet  potato. 
And  they  were  alone  in  their  journey. 

From  out  the  leagues  of  papyrus  fen  the  ibis  and  the 
flamingo  screamed,  and  through  the  matete-canes  the 
startled  crocodile  plunged  under  the  lity-covered  waves. 
Overhead  circled  and  piped  vast  flocks  of  strange  water- 
fowl, puzzled  by  the  sight  of  human  beings,  and  from 
the  path  before  them  the  sulky  lion  hardly  turned  away. 
The  hyenas  in  the  rattan  brakes  snarled  to  see  them 
pass,  and  wailing  through  the  forests,  that  covered  the 
face  of  the  land,  came  the  cry  of  the  lonely  lemur.  A 
dreary,  desolate  country,  rich  in  flowers  and  fruit,  and 
surpassingly  beautiful,  but  desolate  of  man. 

The  elephant  was  the  noblest  in  the  land,  and  on 
the  water  there  was  none  to  stand  before  the  river- 
horse. 

1  This  legend  is  founded  upon  the  notes  taken  in  Uganda  by 
Mr.  H.  M.  Stanley  for  his  book  "  Across  the  Dark  Continent," 
which  it  fell  to  my  pleasant  lot  to  edit. — P.  R. 


360  Idle.  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

And  so  they  plodded  on,  old  Kintu  and  his  wife, 
until,  coming  to  where  the  Victoria  Nj-auza  spreads  its 
summer  sea  through  four  degrees  of  latitude,  flecked 
with  floating  groves,  "  purple  isles  of  Eden,"  the  patri- 
arch halted,  and,  the  first  time  for  many  }-ears,  Lad 
down  his  staff  upon  the  ground.  And  the  mark  of  the 
Staff  may  still  be  seen,  eight  cubits  in  length,  lying  like 
a  deep  scar  across  the  basalt  boulders  piled  up  on  the 
•western  shore  of  the  great  lake.  And  then  his  wife 
laid  down  her  burden,  the  one  banana  and  the  one  po- 
tato ;  and  the  goat  and  the  cow  lay  down,  for  they  were 
all  weary  with  the  journey  of  half  a  centuiy,  during 
which  they  had  never  rested  night  nor  day.  And  the 
name  they  gave  the  land  they  stayed  at  was  Uganda, 
but  the  name  of  the  land  they  came  from  no  one 
knows. 

And  then  Kintu  cut  the  banana  and  potato  into  many 
little  pieces,  and  planted  them,  each  piece  twenty  miles 
apart,  and  they  grew  so  fast  that  the  plant  seemed  to 
the  ej-e  to  be  crawling  over  the  ground.  And  his  wife 
had  many  sons  and  daughters,  and  they  were  ah1  born 
adult,  and  intermarried,  so  that  in  a  few  years  all  the 
country  was  filled  with  people.  The  cow  and  the  goat 
also  brought  forth  adult  offspring,  and  these  multiplied 
so  fast  that  in  the  second  generation  every  man  in  the 
land  had  a  thousand  head  of  cattle.  And  Kintu  was 
their  king,  and  his  people  called  him  the  Blameless 
Priest ;  for  he  wronged  no  one.  In  his  land  no  blood 
was  ever  shed,  for  he  had  forbidden  his  people  to  eat 
meat,  and  when  any  sinned  they  were  led  away  b}-  their 
friends,  the  man  with  a  woman,  for  a  thousand  miles, 
and  left  there  with  cuttings  of  the  banana  and  the 
potato  ;  for  they  never  led  any  one  away  alone,  lest  he 


The  Legend  of  the  Blameless  Priest.          361 

should  die  ;  and  once  every  year,  after  the  gathering  of 
the  harvest,  Kintu  sent  messengers  to  the  exiles  to 
know  how  they  did.  So  the  land  was  at  peace  from 
morning  to  night,  and  there  was  plenty  in  every  house. 
And  the  patriarch  moved  about  among  his  people  in 
spotless  robes  of  white,  and  loved  and  honored  by  all 
as  their  father. 

But  after  a  long  time  the  young  men  and  women  grew 
wicked,  for  they  found  out  the  secret  of  making  wine 
from  the  banana  and  strong  drink  from  the  palm  fruit 
and  fire-water  from  the  mtama  grain ;  and  with  this 
the}'  got  drunk  together,  and  when  they  were  drunk 
the}'  forgot  that  they  were  Kintu's  children.  And  first 
of  all  the}'  began  to  dress  in  bright  colors,  and  then  they 
killed  the  cattle  .for  food,  until  at  last  Kintu  was  the 
only  man  in  all  his  kingdom  who  was  dressed  in  spotless 
white,  and  who  had  never  shed  blood.  And  the  wicked- 
ness increased ;  for,  having  killed  animals,  they  began 
to  fight  among  themselves,  and  at  last  one  day  a  man  of 
Uganda,  having  got  drunk  with  palm  wine,  killed  one  of 
his  tribe  with  a  spear.  And  the  people  rose  up  with  a 
cry,  and  ever}'  man  took  his  spear  in  his  hand,  and  the 
whole  land  of  Uganda  was  in  an  uproar,  vthe  people  kill- 
ing one  another.  But  when  it  was  all  over,  and  the 
morning  came,  they  saw  the  dead  men  lying  about 
among  the  melon  plants,  and  were  frightened,  for  they 
had  never  seen  dead  men  before,  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  them ;  and  then  they  looked  about  for 
the  patriarch-,  whom  all  this  while  they  had  forgotten ; 
and  lo  !  he  was  gone. 

And  no  one  would  tell  them  whither. 

Till  at  last  a  little  girl  child  spoke  up  :  "I  saw  Kintu 
and  his  wife  go  out  of  the  gate  in  the  early  morning, 


362  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

and  with  them  they  took  a  cow  and  a  goat,  a  banana 
and  a  potato  ;  and  Kintu  said,  '  This  land  is  black  with 
blood.'  I  ran  after  them,  and  with  me  was  only  my 
little  brother  Pokino,  and  he  and  I  watched  Kintu  and 
his  wife  go  away  down  by  the  wood  to  the  river  that 
comes  from  the  west." 

The  children  had  been  the  last  to  see  Kintu ;  for 
though  everj'  one  was  asked,  no  one  had  seen  the 
Blameless  Priest  go  forth  except  the  little  ones, 
Sararnba,  with  the  round  eyes,  and  her  baby  brother 
Pokino. 

Then  the  people  were  in  great  consternation,  and  ran 
hither  and  thither,  looking  for  the  patriarch  ;  but  he  was 
never  found.  And  when  the  tumult  of  the.first  lamen- 
tation was  over,  Chwa,  the  eldest  son  of  Kintu,  took 
his  shield  and  spear,  and  going  out  into  the  market- 
place, shook  his  spear  before  the  assembled  chiefs,  and 
struck  his  spear  upon  his  shield  to  show  that  he  was 
king.  And  he  made  all  the  nation  into  castes,  and  to 
two  castes  he  gave  the  duty  of  finding  Kintu.  Far 
and  near  they  sought  him,  crossing  strange  rivers  and 
subduing  many  tribes ;  but  the  lost  patriarch  was 
never  seen.  And  when  Chwa  was  dead,  his  son  shook 
his  spear  before  the  people,  and  searched  for  Kintu  all 
his  life,  and  died  without  finding  him.  And  thirty- 
eight  kings  ruled  in  succession  over  Uganda,  but  never 
again  did  human  eye  behold  the  man  they  sought. 

Then  Ma'anda  came  to  the  throne.  He  was  differ- 
ent from  all  the  kings  that  had  preceded  him,  for  he 
robed  himself  in  white,  and  no  blood  might  be  shed 
within  a  mile's  distance  of  his  palace,  and  no  man  who 
had  killed  an  animal  might  come  within  a  spear's 


The  Legend  of  the  Blameless  Priest.           363 

throw  of  his  person.  He  was  kind  to  all,  to  animate 
and  to  men  alike,  and  they  called  him  in  Uganda 
the  Good  Father.  He  had  given  up  the  search  for 
Kintu,  for  he  knew  it  was  hopeless ;  but  once  a  year 
he  called  all  the  chiefs  together,  and  warned  them  that 
until  they  gave  up  fighting  among  themselves  and 
warring  with  other  tribes,  they  could  never  hope  to 
see  the  Blameless  Priest  again. 

Now  one  day  Ma'anda  dreamed  strangety,  and,  rising 
before  dawn,  went  to  his  mother  and  said :  "  I  dreamt 
in  the  night  that  a  peasant  came  to  me  from  the  forest 
and  told  me  something  that  filled  me  with  joy,  but  what 
it  was  I  cannot  remember." 

She  asked,  "  When  did  the  peasant  come?" 

He  answered,  "  Just  as  the  hyena  was  crying  for  the 
third  time." 

She  said,  "  But  that  is  not  yet." 

And  lo !  as  she  spoke,  from  the  mtama  crop  the 
hyena  cried  for  the  third  time,  —  for  the  day  was  break- 
ing, —  and  Ma'anda's  mother  said,  "  Get  ready  quickly, 
and  take  your  spear,  for  I  can  hear  the  peasant  coming, 
and  he  has  strange  news  to  tell  you,  my  son."  Ma'anda 
could  hear  nothing ;  yet  he  went  away  to  get  read}*  to 
receive  the  messenger.  But  at  the  door  he  met  the 
Katekiro,  the  chief  officer  of  his  household,  who  said, 
"  There  is  a  madman  without,  who  sa}*s  he  has  news 
for  the  king.  He  is  only  a  peasant,  but  will  not  go 
away,  for  he  says  that  the  king  must  hear  his  news." 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  the  king.  And  the  peasant 
entered. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Ma'anda. 

"  I  may  not  tell  any  one  but  the  king  and  the  king's 
mother :  which  are  they  ?  " 


364  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

So  the  king  took  the  peasant  into  his  mother's  house, 
and  having  carefully  seen  that  no  one  was  listening,  the 
peasant  told  his  tale. 

"I  went  last  night  to  cut  wood  in  the  forest,  and, 
being  overtaken  by  the  darkness,  lay  down  to  sleep  by 
m}-  wood.  And  in  my  sleep  a  person  came  to  me  and 
said,  '  Follow  me,'  and  I  took  up  my  biU-hook  and 
went  with  him.  And  we  came  to  an  open  space  in  the 
forest,  and  in  the  open  space  I  saw  an  old  man  sitting, 
and  beside  him,  on  either  hand,  stood  a  number  of  old 
men,  all  with  spears  in  their  hands,  and  the}-  seemed  to 
have  just  come  from  a  long  march.  And  though  it  was 
dark  in  the  forest,  it  was  quite  light  where  the  old  men 
were  ;  and  the  old  man  who  was  sitting  said  to  me,  '  Go 
to  Ma'anda,  the  king,  and  tell  him  to  come  to  me  with 
his  mother.  But  let  him  take  «are  that  no  one  else,  not 
even  his  dog,  follows  him.  For  I  have  that  to  tell  him 
which  will  make  him.  glad,  and  that  to  show  him  that  no 
king  of  Uganda  has  yet  been  able  to  find.'  So  I  laid 
down  my  bill-hook  and  my  head-cloth  where  I  was 
standing,  and  I  turned  and  ran  swiftly  from  fear,  and  I 
did  not  stop  till  I  reached  the  palace.  Oh,  great  king, 
live  forever." 

"Show  the  way,"  replied  Ma'anda,  "and  we  will 
follow." 

So  the}*  stole  out,  those  three,  —  the  peasant,  the  king 
and  his  mother,  —  and,  thinking  they  were  unperceived, 
crept  away  from  the  palace  through  the  fence  of  the 
matete,  before  the  sun  rose  and  the  people  were  up. 
But  the  Katekiro  had  watched  them,  and  seeing  the 
king  go  out  with  only  the  peasant  and  his  mother,  said 
to  himself,  "There  is  some  treachery  here.  I  will  fol- 
low the  king,  so  that  no  harm  may  befall  him." 


The  Legend  of  the  Blameless  Priest.  365 

And  they  all  went  fast  through  the  forest  together, 
and  though  the  king  kept  turning  round  to  see  if  any 
one  was  following,  the  Katekiro  managed  to  keep  al- 
ways out  of  sight,  for  the  king's  eyes  were  dim  with 
age.  And  at  last  Ma'anda  was  satisfied  that  no  one 
was  behind  them,  and  hurried  on  without  looking  back. 
And  at  evening  they  came  to  the  spot,  and  the  peasant 
was  afraid  to  go  on.  But  he  pointed  before  him,  and 
the  king,  looking,  saw  a  pale  light  through  the  trees,  and 
between  the  trees  he  thought  he  saw  the  figures  of  men 
robed  in  white,  moving  to  and  fro.  And  he  advanced 
slowly  towards  the  light,  and  as  he  got  nearer  it  in- 
creased in  brightness,  and  then  on  a  sudden  he  found 
himself  in  the  glade,  and  there  before  him  sat  the  old 
man  surrounded  by  his  aged  warriors,  and  at  his  feet 
lay  the  wood-cutter's  bill-hook  and  head-cloth.  Ma'anda 
stood  astonished  at  the  sight,  and  held  his  spear  fast ; 
but  a  voice  came  to  his  ears,  so  gentle  and  so  soft  that 
his  doubts  all  vanished,  and  he  came  forward  boldly. 

••Who  art  thou?"   asked  the  old  man. 

"  I  am  Ma'anda,  the  king." 

"Who  was  the  first  king  of  Uganda?" 

"  Kintu." 

"  Then  come  nearer,  for  I  have  something  to  tell  thee  ; 
but  why  didst  thou  let  any  one  come  with  thee  except 
the  peasant  and  thy  mother?" 

"  Xo  one  is  with  me,"  replied  Ma'anda;  "I  kept 
looking  behind  me  as  I  came,  and  I  am  sure  that  no 
one  followed  us." 

"  Well,  then,  come  here  and  look  me  in  the  face.  I 
have  something  to  tell  thee  from  Kintu,  and  thou  shalt 
thyself  see  Kintu  to-day ;  but  first —  why  didst  thon  let 
anv  man  follow  thee  ? " 


366  Idle  Hours  under  the  Punkah. 

And  Ma'anda,  who  was  impatient,  answered  quickly : 

"  No  one  followed  me  " 

"  But  a  man  did  follow  thee,"  replied  the  old  man, 
"  and  there  he  stands  !"  pointing  with  his  finger  to  the 
Katekiro,  whose  curiosity  had  drawn  him  forth  from  his 
hiding.  Seeing  himself  discovered,  he  stepped  forward 
to  the  side  of  the  king. 

Then  Ma'anda's  wrath  overwhelmed  him,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  raised  his  hand  to  strike.  And 
his  spear  pierced  the  Katekiro  to  the  heart,  who  fell 
with  a  cry  at  his  feet.  At  the  horror  of  his  deed  and 
his  own  blood-splashed  robe,  Ma'anda  sprang  back,  and 
for  an  instant  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  in  an 
agony  of  sorrow. 

And  when  he  opened  his  eyes  again  the  forest  was  all 
dark,  and  the  old  man  and  his  chiefs  had  vanished  ! 

Nor  from  that  day  to  this  has  any  one  in  Uganda 
seen  the  Blameless  Priest. 


University  Press  :  John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  LONDON  PRESS 


ON   THE   WRITINGS  OF  THB 


"NEW   ENGLISH    HUMORIST." 


"These  delightful  papers  •  •  .  quaint  humor  and  remarkable  literary  skill  and 
taste.  Old  Izaac  Walton  would  have  enjoyed  them  immensely ;  so  would  White 
of  Selborne,  and  even  Addison  would  have  admired  them.  ...  A  sympathetic 
power  of  entering  into  their  life  and  hitting  it  off  in  a  happy  and  humorous  man- 
ner, with  the  aid  of  much  literary  culture.  ...  In  reading  his  loving  diatribes 
against  his  furred  and  feathered  acquaintances,  one  cannot  help  remembering  that 
India  has  always  been  the  home  of  the  Beast  Story.  "  But  since  the  Sanskrit  Hito 
padesa  was  put  together,  we  question  whether  any  writer  has  given  us  such  pic- 
tures of  the  floating  population  of  lotus-covered  tanks,  and  the  domestic  life  that 
goes  on  in  the  great  Indian  trees.  To  Mr.  Robinson,  every  pipal  or  mango  tree 
is  a  many-storied  house  :  each  branch  is  full  of  vitality  and  intrigue,  as  an  etage 
of  a  Parisian  mansion.  Snakes  and  toads  live  in  a  small  way  on  the  ground  floor, 
until  the  arrival  of  the  mongoose  with  his  writ  of  ejectment ;  lizards  lead  a  rackety, 
bachelor  existence  in  the  entresol ;  prosperous  parrots  occupy  suites  en  premiere ; 
cats  and  gray  squirrels  are  for  ever  skipping  up  or  down  stairs.  The  higher  stories 
are  the  modest  abodes  of  the  small  artistic  world  :  vocalist  bulbuls  and  dramatic 
mainas  rehearsing  their  parts.  The  garrets  and  topmost  perches  are  peopled  with 
poor  predatory  kites  or  vultures ;  from  whom  the  light-fingered  and  more  deeply 
criminal  crow  pilfers,  not  without  a  chuckle,  their  clumsily  stolen  supper.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Robinson  is  the  Columbus  of  the  banyan-tree.  He  sails  away  into  its  recesses 
and  discovers  new  worlds.  .  .  .  Mr.  Robinson  has  only  to  do  justice  to  his  artistic 
perceptions,  and  to  his  fine  vein  of  humor  in  order  to  create  for  himself  a  unique 
place  among  the  essayists  of  our  day."  —  The  Academy. 

"  These  charming  little  word-pictures  of  Indian  life  and  Indian  scenery  are, 
so  it  appears  to  us,  something  more  than  an  unusually  bright  page  in  Anglo-Indian 
literature  ...  as  much  humor  as  human  sympathy.  .  .  .  The  book  abounds  in 
delightful  passages ;  let  the  reader,  who  will  trust  us,  find  them  for  himself.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Edwin  Arnold,  who  has  introduced  this  little  volume  to  English  readers  by  a 
highly-appreciative  preface,  says  truly  that  from  these  slight  sketches  a  most  vivid 
impression  of  every-day  Indian  life  may  be  gathered.  .  .  .  The  chief  merit  of 
these  Indian  sketches  lies  in  their  truthfulness;  their  realism  is  the  secret  of  their 
vivid  poetic  life."  -  The  Examiner. 

"  One  of  the  most  charming  little  series  of  sketches  we  have  ever  read.  If  we 
could  imagine  a  kind  of  cross  between  White  of  Selborne  and  the  American 
writer  Thoreau,  we  should  be  able  better  to  define  what  manner  of  author  Mr. 
Phil  Robinson  is.  He  is  clearly  a  masterly  observer  of  out-door  life  in  India,  and 
not  only  records  faithfully  what  he  sees,  but  illuminates  the  record  by  flashes  of 
gentle  culture  such  as  can  only  come  from  a  well-stored  and  scholarly  mind,  and 
darts,  moreover,  sunny  rays  of  humor  such  as  can  only  proceed  from  a  richly  en- 
dowed and  truly  sympathetic  nature.  All  living  things  he  loves,  and  hence  he 
writes  about  them  reverently  and  lovingly  What  the  accomplished  author  of  the 
preface  calls  '  the  light  and  laughing  science '  of  this  little  book  will  do  more  to 
familiarize  the  English  reader  with  the  out-door  look  of  India  than  anything  else,  — 
save,  of  course,  years  of  residence  in  the  country." —  The  Daily  Telegraph. 


Press  Notices. 


"  One  of  the  most  delightful  and  fascinating  little  books  with  which  we  have 
met  for  a  long  time.  It  is  a  rare  pleasure  to  come  across  anything  so  fresh  and 
brilliant.  ...  A  literary  treat  is  presented  in  this  most  clever  and  striking  little 
volume.  We  can  fancy  with  what  a  thorough  sense  of  enjoyment  poor  Mortimer 
Collins  would  have  turned  over  these  pages,  and  how  Mr.  Robinson's  graphic 
sketches  of  the  ways  of  birds  and  the  growth  of  trees  would  have  appealed  to 
Charles  Kingsley.  It  is  certainly  a  striking  illustration  of  the  old  story,  '  Eyes 
and  No  Eyes.'  His  style  is  particularly  happy,  and  there  is  a  freshness  of  tone 
about  his  whole  bcok  which  raises  it  far  above  the  ordinary  level.  ...  It  has 
been  reserved  for  Mr.  Robinson  to  open  this  new  field  of  literature  to  English 
readers ;  and  we  hope  that  his  venture  may  meet  with  the  success  which  it  de- 
serves, so  that  the  present  volume  may  prove  but  the  first  of  a  long  and  delightful 
series.  .  .  ."  —  John  Bull. 

"  This  is  a  charming  volume.  ...  In  his  style  we  are  reminded  frequently  of 
Charles  Lamb.  .  .  .  The  book  has  an  antique  flavor,  like  the  quaint  style  of  Elia; 
and,  like  Lamb,  Mr.  Robinson  has  evidently  made  an  affectionate  acquaintance 
with  some  of  our  early  humorists.  That  he  is  himself  a  humorist,  and  looks  at 
Indian  life  with  a  mirthfulness  sometimes  closely  allied  to  pathos,  is  the  charac- 
teristic which  is  likely  first  to  strike  the  reader.  But  he  will  observe,  too,  that  if 
Mr.  Robinson  describes  birds,  flowers,  trees,  and  insects  with  the  pen  of  the 
humorist  rather  "than  of  the  naturalist,  it  is  not  because  he  has  failed  to  note  the 
common  objects  in  his  Indian  garden  with  the  patient  observation  of  a  man  of 
science.  The  attraction  of  a  book  like  this  will  be  more  easily  felt  than  described; 
and,  just  as  there  are  persons  unable  to  enjoy  the  fragrance  of  certain  flowers  or 
the  taste  of  certain  choice  wines,  it  is  possible  Mr.  Robinson's  brightly-written 
pages  may  not  prove  universally  attractive.  Readers  who  enjoy  them  at  all  will 
enjoy  them  thoroughly.  ...  It  would  be  impossible  to  convey  the  full  flavor  of 
this  distinctly  marked  volume  without  extracting  freely  from  its  pages.  The 
sketches  are  so  full  of  freshness  and  vivacity  that  the  reader,  sitting  under  an 
English  roof,  will  be  able  for  the  moment  to  see  what  the  writer  saw,  and  to  feel 
what  he  felt."  —  The  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  This  book  is  simply  charming.  ...  A  perfect  mine  of  entertaining  and 
unique  information.- .  .  .  An  exquisite  literary  style,  supplementing  rare  powers 
of  observation;  moreover,  the  resources  of  a  cultivated  intellect  are  brought  into 


in  short,  is  one  of  those  few  authors  who  have  found  their  precise  metier,  and  can 
therefore  write  so  as  to  entrance  his  readers."  —  The  Whitehall  Review. 


"  It  is  not  given  to  many  writers  in  these  days  to  produce  a  book,  small  or 
large,  which  shall  not  in  some  degree  remind  the  omnivorous  reader  of  many  other 


Press  Notices. 


osophical  reflections  which  the  objects  around  him  suggest.  Underlying  this  in- 
direct way  of  looking  at  things,  a  genuine  love  of  Indian  rural  life,  and  a  cultivated 
taste,  are  abundantly  indicated.  Some  of  the  brief  descriptive  passages  are  curiously 
vivid."  —  Daily  Nevus. 

"  Mr  Robinson  is  a  genial  naturalist  and  genuine  humorist.  A  more  agreeable 
pocket-companion  we  can  hardly  choose  than  this  volume."  —  Illustrated  London 
News. 

"  Mr.  Robinson's  charming  essays  breathe  the  true  literary  spirit  in  every  line. 
They  are  not  mere  machine-made  sweetmeats,  to  be  swallowed  whole  and  never 
again  remembered  ;  but  they  rather  resemble  the  most  cunning  admixtures  of 
good  things,  turned  out  by  a  skilful  craftsman  in  matters  culinary.  Whoever  once 
reads  this  delicious  little  book  will  not  lay  it  carelessly  aside,  but  will  place  it  with 
respectful  epicurean  tenderness  on  his  favorite  shelf,  side  by  side  with  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes's  '  Kindred  Musings,'  and  not  tar  removed  from  the  fresh  coun- 
try atmosphere  of  Gilbert  White's  '  Selborne."  Mr.  Robinson  plants  himself  in 
the  verandah  of  a  bungalow,  it  is  true,  and  surveys  nature  as  it  presents  itself  upon 
the  sweltering  banks  of  the  Jumna ;  but  he  sees  it  with  an  eye  trained  on  the 
shores  of  Cam  or  Isis,  and  describes  it  with  a  hand  evidently  skilled  in  the  com- 
position of  classical  lore.  Mr.  Robinson's  humor  is  too  tender  not  to  have  a 
pathetic  side  ;  little  children  come  in  for  no  small  share  of  pitiful,  kindly  notice, 
and  the  love  for  dumb  creatures  shines  out  in  every  page."  —  London. 

"  Mr.  Edwin  Arnold's  praise  is  valuable,  for  it  is  the  praise  of  one  who  knows; 
and  Mr.  Robinson  fully  deserves  all  that  is  said  of  him.  His  style  is  delightful. 
He  has  read  much  and  observed  much ;  and  there  is  a  racy  flavor  of  Charles 
Lamb  about  him.  A  book  which  once  begun  is  sure  to  be  read  through,  and  then 
read  aloud  to  any  to  whom  the  reader  wishes  to  give  pleasure."  —  The  Echo. 

"  Bright  and  fanciful  —  the  author  has  done  for  the  common  objects  of  India 
something  which  Gilbert  White  did  for  Selborne—  graceful  and  animated  sketches, 
sometimes  full  of  an  intense  reality,  in  other  places  of  a  quaint  and  delicate  humor 
which  has  a  flavor  as  of  the  '  Essays  of  Elia.'  "  —  The  Guardian. 

"This  dainty  volume  is  one  of  those  rare  books  that  come  upon  the  critic  from 
time  to  time  as  a  surprise  and  a  refreshment,  —  a  book  to  be  put  in  the  favorite 
corner  of  the  library,  and  to  be  taken  up  often  again  with  renewed  pleasure.  Mr. 
Robinson's  brief  picturesque  vignettes  of  every-day  life  in  India— always  good- 
natured,  often  humorous — are  real  little  idylls  of  exquisite  taste  and  delicacy. 
Mr.  Robinson's  style  is  exuberant  with  life,  overflowing  too  with  reminiscences  of 
Western  literature,  even  the  most  modern.  In  his  longer  and  more  ambitious 


"  The  author  is  one  of  the  quaintest  and  most  charming  of  our  modern  writers 
in  an  almost  forgotten  kind.  Mr.  Robinson  belongs  to  that  school  of  pure  literary 
essayists  whose  types  are  to  be  found  in  Lamb  and  Christopher  North  and  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes,  but  who  seem  to  have  died  out  for  the  most  part  with  the  pre- 
scientific  age.  One  or  two  of  the  pieces  remind  one  not  a  little  of  Poe  in  his 
mood  of  pure  terror  with  a  tinge  of  mystery  ;  the  story  of  the  '  Man- Eating  Tree, 
for  example,  is  told  with  all  Poe's  minute  realism.  It  is  good  sterling  light  litera- 
ti-re of  a  sort  that  we  do  not  often  get  in  England.  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


'  Sight-Se 
St.  James's  Gazette. 

"Tenderness  and  pathos ;  delicate  and  humorously  quaint,"  — .Paw. 

"  In  '  The  Hunting  of  the  Soko'  there  is  much  cleverness  in  the  way  in  which 
the  human  attributes  of  the  quarry  are  insinuated  and  worked  out,  clouding  the 
successful  chase  with  a  taint  of  manslaughter  and  uncomfortable  remorse.  The 
account  of  the  'Man-Eating  Tree,'  too,  a  giant  development  of  our  droseras  and 


Press  Notices. 


dionaeas,  is  a  very  good  traveller's  story.  But  the  best  as  well  as  the  most  con- 
siderable of  these  essays,  occupying  in  fact,  two-fifths  of  the  volume,  is  one 
entitled  'Sight-Seeing.'  '  Here  we  have  the  benefit  of  the  author's  familiarity,  not 
merely  with  the  places  in  India  worth  seeing,  but  with  the  customs  and  character  of 
the  people.  With  such  a  *  sight-seer  '  as  guide,  the  reader  sees  many  things  the 
ordinary  traveller  would  miss,  and  much  information  and  not  a  little  food  for 
reflection  are  compressed  into  a  relatively  small  space  in  a  style  which  is  not  only 
pleasant  but  eloquent.  "  —  The  A  then&um. 

"  A  deftly-mixed  olla-podrida  of  essays,  travel,  and  stories.  '  Sight-Seeing  '  is 
one  of  those  happy  efforts  which  hit  off  the  real  points  of  interest  in  a  journey. 
'  My  Wife's  Birds'  is  an  essay,  genial  and  humorous;  the  'Daughter  of  Mercy," 
an  allegory,  tender  and  suggestive.  But  the  tales  of  adventure  carry  off  the  palm. 
These  stories  are  marvellous  and  fanciful,  yet  imaginative  in  the  highest  sense. 
'The  Man-  Eating  Tree  '  and  the  '  Hunting  of  the  Soko,"  blend  thrilling  horror 
and  weird  superstition  with  a  close  imitation  of  popular  stories  of  actual  adven- 
ture."— The  World. 

"  In  a  series  of  powerfully  drawn  sketches,  Mr.  Robinson  shows  that  he  belongs 
to  the  happy  few  in  whom  intimate  acquaintance  with  Indian  objects  has  created 
no  indifference.  The  vignettes  which  he  paints  are  by  turns  humorous  and  pathetic, 
serious  and  powerful,  charming  and  artistic.  From  them  we  gain  a  vivid  impres- 
sion of  the  every-day  world  of  India.  They  show  us  in  really  admirable  descrip- 
tions, bright  and  quaint,  what  a  wealth  of  material  for  Art,  Literature,  and 
Descriptive  Painting  lies  latent  even  in  the  daily  experiences  of  an  Englishman  in 
India  The  author  writes  about  butterflies  and  insects,  things  furred  and  feath- 
ered, flowers  and  trees,  with  a  keen  eye  for  the  life  and  instincts  of  Indian  scenery, 
and  with  a  delightful  sympathy  for  the  East.  .  .  .  His  exquisite  sketches  remind 
one  of  the  classical  work  —  'White's  Natural  History  of  Selborne.'  In  Mr. 
Robinson's  book  there  is  to  be  found  the  same  patience  in  observation  united  to 
the  charm  of  a  highly-cultured  mind.  .  .  .  Where  everything  is  so  good  it  would 
be  idle  to  show  a  preference  by  quotation."  —  ilfagajttt  flit  t>te  iftteratltr  te3 


"  Mr.  Phil.  Robinson  has  his  own  way  of  looking  at  Nature,  and  a  very  pleas- 
ant way  it  is.  His  love  of  his  subject  is  as  genuine,  perhaps  more  so,  than  that 
of  the  solemn  naturalist  who  writes  with  a  pen  of  lead  :  he  can  be  at  once  lively 
and  serious  ;  and  his  knowledge,  which  resembles  in  variety  the  contents  of  an 
ostrich's  stomach,  is  exhibited  without  effort.  Indeed,  it  would  be  incorrect  to 
say  that  it  is  exhibited  at  all.  His  style  is,  no  doubt,  achieved  with  art,  but  the 
art  is  not  seen,  and  his  easy  method  of  expressing  what  he  knows  may  deceive  the 
unwary  reader.  .  .  .  This  delightful  volume  !  A  book  which  deserves  the  atten- 
tion both  of  old  and  young  readers.'*  —  The  Spectator. 

"When  Mr.  Robinson  sent  out  those  delightful  chapters  entitled  'In  My 
Indian  Garden,'  it  was  evident  that  a  new  genius  had  appeared  on  the  horizon  of 
English  literature.  In  that  exquisite  little  book,  the  original  and  accurate  obser- 
vations of  animal  life  which  charmed  the  naturalist  were  conveyed  with  a  humor 
so  entirely  new  and  clothed  with  a  diction  so  perfect  as  to  give  a  very  high  literary 
value  to  the  work  as  well  as  a  signal  promise  of  further  performance  on  a  yet 
larger  scale.  .  .  .  His  purely  literary  quality  reminds  us  of  the  old  masters'  of 
humor;  but  it  has  the  unique  advantage  of  alliance  with  a  range  of  exact  knowl- 
edge of  the  animal  world  of  which  none  of  Mr.  Robinson's  predecessors  can 
boast.  And  yet  our  author,  with  all  his  knowledge  and  love  of  animals,  is  pre- 
eminently a  classic  humorist.  His  rare  and  distinctive  faculty  is  seen  in  his  way 
of  inverting  our  method  of  studying  animals.  In  his  scheme  of  investigating 
nature,  man  does  not  play  his  usually  proud  part  of  discoverer  and  exponent  of 
his  fellow  animals  in  fur  and  feathers  ;  rather  he  is  discovered  and  expounded  by 
them.  When  the  Unicorn  in  Mr.  Lewis  Carroll's  Through  the  Looking-glass 
first  saw  Alice,  he  remarked  that  he  had  always  thought  little  girls  were  fabulous 
creatures.  Mr.  Robinson  possesses  in  perfection  this  power  of  presenting  man 
from  what  may  be  supposed  to  be  an  animal's  point  of  view.  And  the  view  that 
every  animal  exists  for  itself  and  that  all  barriers  to  its  self-interest  are  so  many 
accidents  and  interferences  with  the  scheme  of  nature,  finds  in  our  author's  hands 
the  most  startling  and  amusing  expression.  .  .  .  Mr.  Robinson  possesses  grace, 


Press  Notices. 


felicity,  and  literary  wealth  which  no  mere  culture  could  ever  attain  ;  he  is  a  genius 
of  a  rare  and  classic  kind.  A  '  Morning  in  the  Zoo  '  with  such  a  companion  will 
be  found  to  have  the  charm  of  Thoreau  without  his  vanity ;  the  humor  of  Lamb, 
never  labored  or  attenuated  into  wire-drawn  conceits."  —  London  Standard. 

"  Mr.  Phil.  Robinson  is  an  entertaining  writer :  he  is  genial  and  humorous, 
with  a  knack  of  saying  things  in  the  manner  of  Charles  Lamb.  .  .  .  He  has  un- 
doubtedly a  great  liking  for  animals,  >  special  knowledge  of  their  works  and  ways, 
of  their  homes  and  haunts,  and  writes  about  them  not  in  the  style  of  a  natural 
history,  but  with  the  freedom  and  gracefulness  of  a  novelist  or  humorist.  This 
book  is  well  fitted  to  wile  away  the  hours  which  can  be  stolen  from  absorbing 
work.  The  author  chats  pleasantly  and  charmingly  about  animals,  with  frequent 
digressions,  which  sometimes  are  almost  startling  enough  to  suggest  an  inquiry  as 
to  what  possible  relation  the  digression  has  with  the  book ;  and  yet,  after  all,  the 
digression  is  as  entertaining  as  the  book  proper.  .  .  •  We  have  but  dipped  into 
this  thoroughly  interesting  and  very  admirable  book,  which  tells  us  a  very  great 
deal  about  all  kinds  of  animals  from  all  pans  of  the  world,  and  from  its  seas  and 
rivers.  It  is  full  of  real  poetry  of  feeling,  and  contains  much  that  philosophers 
and  divines  may  ponder  with  exceeding  advantage,  and  all  sorts  of  readers  will 
peruse  with  intense  interest.  We  can  scarcely  give  the  book  higher  praise  than 
this,  and  all  this  it  richly  deserves."  —  The  London  Literary  World. 

"  Even  so  admirable  and  delightful  a  writer  as  Mr.  Phil.  Robinson  cannot  afford 
to  despise  that  incalculable  element  in  human  affairs  which  goes  by  the  name  of 
luck  :  and  he  may  be  congratulated  upon  the  fact  that  his  latest  volume  comes 
under  the  notice  of  the  reading  world  at  a  moment  when  that  world  has  been 
brought  into  a  condition  of  peculiar  and  beautiful  preparedness  for  its  reception. 
When  Jumbo  is  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  when,  in  body  or  in  mind,  millions  of 
our  countrymen,  countrywomen,  and  country  children,  have  been  making  pilgrim- 
ages to  his  shrine  in  Regent's  Park,  the  record  of  'Mornings  at  the  Zoo,' can 
hardly  fail  to  exercise  a  powerful  if  melancholy  fascination ;  and  when  the  recorder 
is  a  man  like  Mr  Phil.  Robinson  the  fascination  is  one  that  can  amply  justify 
itself  to  itself  or  to  the  world,  and  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  spring  frenzy 
or  midsummer  madness.  .  .  .  He  is  not  a  joke  manufacturer.  When  the  joke 
comes  it  is  welcome,  all  the  more  welcome  for  coming  spontaneously :  and  when 
it  stays  away,  its  place  can  easily  be  filled  by  some  little  tit-bit  of  recent  scientific 
speculation  or  result  of  personal  observation  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  Mr. 
Robinson's  brute  friends.  For  '  Noah's  Ark '  has  something  more  than  mere 
humor  to  recommend  it.  The  humor  is,  in  fact,  but  the  mere  decoration  of  a 
body  of  knowledge  ;  and  the  man  with  no  more  sense  of  fun  than  a  hippopotamus 
might  read  it  with  edification  as  a  contribution  to  '  natural '  as  well  as  to  '  unnat- 
ural'  history.  Artemus  Ward  proudly  remarked  of  himself  that  he  had  'a  very 
animal  mind,'  and  Mr.  Phil.  Robinson  might  with  even  better  reason  indulge  in 
the  same  boast.  He  is  a  true  lover  of  beasts,  birds,  and  fishes;  and  because  he 
is  a  true  lover  he  is  a  keen  observer,  and  because  he  is  a  keen  observer  he  is  a 
pleasant  writer  concerning  the  ways  and  the  works — one  might  almost  say  the 
words  —  of  the  denizens  of  field  and  forest,  of  air  and  water.  '  If  you  would  be 
generous,'  he  says,  in  his  brief  postscript,  'do  not  think  me  too  much  in  earnest 
when  I  am  serious,  or  altogether  in  fun  because  I  jest ; '  and  one  of  the  pleasantest 
features  of  this  pleasant  work  is  that  it  does  not  tire  us  by  subjecting  the  mind  to 
the  fatigue  of  maintaining  one  attitude  too  long,  but,  like  a  cunningly  constructed 
arm-chair,  enables  us  to  be  comfortable  in  a  dozen  consecutive  positions.  Some 
good  books  can  be  recommended  to  this  person  or  to  that ;  they  resemble  the 
square  or  the  round  peg  which  adapts  itself  admirably  to  the  square  or  round  hole. 
But  '  Noah's  Ark,'  if  the  metaphor  be  not  too  undignified,  is  like  the  'self-fitting 
candle'  which  is  at  home  in  any  receptacle.  It  is  —  to  drop  metaphor — a  book 
for  everybody."  —  The  Overland  Mail, 


Press  Notices. 


THE   INDIAN    PRESS. 

"  Mr.  Phil.  Robinson  has  struck  out  a  new  path  in  Anglo-Indian  literature. 
.  .  .  His  essays  are  singularly  fresh  and  charming.  They  come  nearer  to  tlie 
tender  wisdom  of  Elia  than  anything  which  has  hitherto  issued  from  an  Anglo- 
Indian  pen.  .  .  .  Every  one  of  the  thirty  or  forty  essays  has  some  special  vein  of 
humor  of  its  own."  — Englishman. 

"  Distinguished  by  all  the  graces  of  a  style  which  ought  some  day  to  give  Mr. 
Phil.  Robinson  a  high  place  among  our  popular  writers. "  —  India  Daily  News. 

"  Not  only  clever  and  interesting,  but  instructive ;  .  .  .  altogether  the  best 
thing  of  its  kind  we  have  come  across  in  print."  —  The  Examiner. 

"To  say  that  this. is  a  charming  book  is  merely  to  repeat  what  almost  every 
reader  of  the  Calcutta  Review  must  have  often  heard  said.  It  is  altogether  the 
very  pleasantest  reading  of  its  kind  that  has  ever  appeared  in  India,  and  we  would 
that  it  oftener  fell  to  our  lot  to  have  such  books  to  criticise."  —  The  Calcutta 
Review. 

"  It  is  given  to  few  to  describe  with  such  appreciative  grace  and  delicately 
phrased  humor  as  Mr.  Robinson.  .  .  .  Marked  by  keen  observation,  felicitous 
touches  of  description ,  and  half-quaint,  half-graceful  bits  of  reflection  and  com- 
ment, .  .  .  containing  some  most  exquisite  sketches  of  natural  history."—  Times 
of  India. 

"  A  delightful  little  book.  There  is  a  similarity  between  the  author's  book  and 
his  subject  which  may  escape  the  notice  of  the  ordinary  reader.  Where  is  the 
casual  observer  who,  having  walked  through  an  Indian  garden,  has  not  noticed 
the  almost  total  absence  of  flowers?  Yet  send  a  Malee  into  that  identical  Indian 


garden,  and  he  wiil  cull  you  a  bouquet  which  for  brightness  and  beauty  can  hai  d'y 
be  surpassed  by  anything  in  Covent  Garden  ;  and  it  is  precisely  the  same  with 
this  little  volume  of  Phil.  Robinson's.  A  little  book  brimful  of  interest,  wiitten 


with  much  grace,  and  a  considerable  amount  of  quaint  humor  which  is  very  re- 
freshing. We  sincerely  trust  he  will  give  the  public  his  Indian  experiences  in 
other  fields  which,  cultivated  by  him,  we  doubt  not  will  prove  equally  rich  in 
production."  —  Times  of  India  (Second  Notice). 

"  These  most  charming  essays."  —  The  Delhi  Gazette. 

"  Very  charming ;  dealing  with  familiar  things  with  an  appreciative  grace  that 
idealizes  whatever  it  touches.  Again  arid  again  we  are  reminded  by  the  dainty 
embodiment  of  some  quaint  fancy  of  the  essays  of  Charles  Lamb  ;  .  .  .  quite  deli- 
cious and  abounding  in  little  descriptive  touches  that  are  almost  perfect ;  cabinet 
word-pictures  painted  in  a  sentence."  —  Bombay  Gazette. 

"  Admirable  little  work."  —  Friend  of  India. 

"A  notable  little  book  :  within  a  small  compass  a  wealth  of  fresh  thoughts  "  — 
Madras  Mail. 


